Regression
by SFGrl
Summary: A Dark Secret Revealed; A Relationship Destroyed. Complete
1. Her Story

**AN: This fic starts off weird, but it will get very dark, and will include adult, and disturbing content.  It is not meant for readers under 17, or those unable to handle suggestions of a troubling nature.  Please do not archive this fic without my consent, even if you archive my others.  And yes, this is a Chandler-torture fic.**

_Regression_

_~Her Story~_

Monica sighed, as she entered the apartment, noting that once again, it was empty.  She wondered what Chandler could possibly be doing at work this late…_again_.  He hated his job—he always had—so why was he spending so much time there?  She shook her head, and shuffled toward the bedroom—it had been a long day at work, and she was just too tired to wait up for him.  She changed into boxers and a tank top, slid into the cool, soft sheets, and was asleep within minutes.

The morning sun shone through the bedroom window, and Monica turned away from the bright rays, her arm flopping over to the other side of the bed.  When she realized it was empty, her eyes opened, and her head poked up slightly.  She sighed.  Chandler's side had not been slept in—again.  What was going on with him?

They had moved in together about five months ago.  Then, about two months ago, Chandler started spending more and more time at work.  He started becoming more distant, and spent more nights than not sleeping on the sofa—his choice, not hers.  This morning was no different.  Monica emerged from her bedroom to find Chandler asleep on the sofa, fully clothed, shoes and all.

"Chandler," Monica said loudly, her arms folded.

"Mmmph," Chandler mumbled, but didn't move.

"Chandler, wake up!" Monica yelled, pulling a pillow out from under his head.

"_Oomph_…Mon, please," Chandler whined, and turned over.

"Get up…_now_," Monica seethed.

Chandler opened his eyes reluctantly, and finally pulled himself up.

"Where were you last night?" Monica questioned.

"Working," Chandler said quickly, as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"And you just worked _so hard_ that you couldn't bother to call?  Or come to bed?  Or take of you goddamn shoes?" Monica's voice raised more with each question she asked.

"I—" Chandler swung his legs off of the sofa, and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Why do you smell like…lemon and…smoke?  Are you smoking again?"

"No!  No…" Chandler stood up and shrugged out of his suit coat.  On the sleeve of his light blue dress shirt, was a burgundy stain.

"What's on your arm?" Monica asked, and Chandler whipped around to face her, his eyes momentarily panicky.

"It's uh…grape juice?" Chandler shrugged.

Monica took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.  She didn't want to ask the next question, but everything in her was telling her that Chandler was lying to her.  She felt her heart ache, and her head spin.  Was this it?  Was this how things were going to end with her best friend…the love of her life?  She opened her eyes, and looked up at Chandler.  He refused to meet her gaze.

"Chandler…I know you're seeing someone.  Please at least show me enough respect to tell me the truth."

Chandler looked up at Monica, and she knew, just by looking at him, that she had hit a nerve…that she was right.  At that moment, she hated that she knew him so well…and hated that she didn't really know him as well as she'd thought.

"Mon…I…I really—" Chandler stuttered.

"I've been keeping track.  You actually have a schedule, I've figured out.  You are always very late on Mondays and Wednesdays, and you are sometimes late on Thursdays, though that only seems to be once a month or something.  I just…does she know about me?" Monica asked.

"I—I don't," Chandler started.  

"How can you do this and not tell me?" Monica asked, her eyes filling with tears.  She refused to cry in front of him though—she quickly wiped her eyes before he turned to look at her again.

"Look Mon, this…this is a really private thing, and…I was planning on telling you eventually…"

Monica's jaw dropped.  How could he be so callous about all of this?  Her shoulders straightened, and she took a long step toward him, before slapping him hard across the face.  He looked stunned, and she almost laughed at his ignorance.

"Get out," she said slowly, "I never want to see you again."


	2. His Story

_Regression_

_~His Story~_

_He was running, running as fast as he could, through a dark, empty corridor.  He could hear his own ragged breath, and the ominous footsteps from behind.  The footsteps closed in, and he fought to speed up, but his legs were like lead.  He tried to scream, but a sharp pain in his back shocked him into silence.  He felt himself falling, falling into darkness…into doom._

Chandler sat up quickly, and struggled to catch his breath.  He lay back down on his pillow, and stifled pending tears.

"Chandler…you okay?" Monica mumbled sleepily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine sweetheart…go back to sleep," Chandler whispered, when his voice seemed to fail him.

Monica's silent response told Chandler that she had already drifted off once more.  He sighed, and pulled himself out of bed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again tonight.

The nightmares had started a couple months after he'd moved into Monica's apartment.  Chandler refused to believe that the two were related, but he couldn't understand why the nightmares were so dark and…disturbing.  They were always some variation on the dream he had just had—sometimes they weren't as bad, but other times, they were much, much worse.  The memories of those dreams alone made Chandler nauseous; he scrambled off of the sofa, and made it to the toilet just in time to throw up his dinner.

~*~

He stood outside the dark wooden door, and stared blankly at the brass nameplate that was nailed on the door at eye level.

_Dr. Renee Kelso, Ph.D._

_Clinical Psychologist_

Chandler sighed, and opened the door, knowing that he needed to at least try to find out what was going on in his head.  

He checked in at the front desk, and took a seat on one of the maroon leather chairs in the corner of the room.  He picked up a magazine off of the table, and flipped through it nervously, without really looking at it.

"Mr. Bing?" the elderly redheaded receptionist called.

"Chandler, come in please," Dr. Kelso, said warmly, as though Chandler was an old friend.  Chandler walked in tentatively, and looked around the room as he crossed it to shake the doctor's hand.

The room was as warm and inviting as the woman who occupied it.  Moss green walls complemented the chocolate brown sofa and cream-colored throw.  The doctor's mahogany desk sat in the opposite side of the room, next to a set of French doors that opened up to a small terrace.  The doors were adorned with thick, buttery drapes.  

"It's, um, nice to meet you Dr. Kelso," Chandler smiled, as the doctor walked out from behind her desk.

"Please, Chandler, call me Renee," Renee smiled.

Renee was much younger than Chandler had expected her to be.  Tall and thin, she appeared to be in her mid-thirties.  Her blonde hair sat in thick, natural curls, at about shoulder length, on her head.  As Chandler shook her hand, he noted that her eyes were a striking green.

"You seem…unsettled," Renee stated plainly.

"I guess…I was expecting someone older," Chandler smiled, his cheeks flushing.

"If my age makes you uncomfortable Chandler, please tell me now, and I can arrange—"

"No, no…that's not necessary…I'm fine," Chandler smiled.

"Great," Renee grinned, and headed for the overstuffed chair that matched the sofa.

"Have a seat, and let's get started," Renee sat down on the chair, and picked up a notepad.

Chandler walked toward the sofa, and hesitated, unsure as to whether or not he should lay down on it.

"You can lay or you can sit…it's totally up to you," Renee stated, reading Chandler's thoughts.

Chandler smiled uncomfortably, and sat on the edge of the sofa.

"Tell me about yourself," Renee said, once Chandler was settled.

"Well, I am a data analyst, and—"

"That's your job," Renee interrupted.

"Um, _yeah_," Chandler chuckled.

"Do you feel that you are defined by what you do?"

"Not really…I don't even like my job."

"Then why are you working there?"

"I…I don't know how to do anything else."

Renee nodded, and smiled knowingly.

Chandler suddenly felt totally exposed.  And all he'd done was tell her what he did for a living.

Chandler continued the sessions, for several weeks, but never revealed to his friends, or even to Monica, what he was doing.  In his family, there had always been a stigma attached to people who were in therapy.  He was certain that his friends would react negatively to his revelation.

The sessions were, in Chandler's opinion, very helpful, but often left him mentally and emotionally drained.  He often found it useful to walk home from the sessions, but it meant that he was arriving back at the apartment very late.  Not wanting to disturb Monica, Chandler would curl up on the sofa, and fall directly to sleep.

~*~

"Chandler, I get the feeling, that despite all that we have accomplished here, there is something buried deep inside of you that just refuses to come out.  In my opinion, that is where the nightmares are rooted.

Nightmares are embedded in the subconscious.  The fact that your dream is recurring tells me that there is something there that we need to find.  I'd like to try something with you, but it's a little unorthodox," Renee stood up, and dimmed the lights in the room.

"Um, okay," Chandler, said nervously.

"It's called _Regression Hypnotherapy_," Renee lit several candles, and some lemongrass incense, "Hypnosis serves as a bridge to the subconscious mind, and Regression Hypnotherapy is a powerful tool for healing the wounds inflicted upon us as we grew up.  Many of your troubles and insecurities seem to be rooted in your childhood, Chandler, and I think this could help us determine where that comes from."

"Okay," Chandler said softly, his body already relaxing in the newly serene surroundings.

Two weeks later, Chandler had a breakthrough, of sorts, in the hypnotherapy session.  His memories began to clear, and Chandler was able to reach into memories that had long been repressed.  Unfortunately, the memories were more disturbing than any nightmare he'd ever had.

He walked out of the bar, and wandered through the crowded New York streets, disturbed and shocked by what the session had revealed.  He suddenly felt weak, and cold, and he felt his old insecurities magnify, as he walked aimlessly through the streets.  In his mind, everyone around him knew what he had just discovered—knew his dark secret.  Panicking, Chandler ran at full speed toward his apartment, not stopping until he was safely inside the apartment building.  Shaking and panicked, he collapsed onto the sofa, and cried himself into a fitful sleep.

"Chandler."

He was vaguely aware that morning had come, but he was not prepared to face it.

"Chandler, wake up!" 

He felt the pillow being pulled from under him.  His head hit the couch cushion hard.

"Mon…please," he mumbled.

"Get up…_now_."

He couldn't do this…he couldn't face her.  She was going to hate him.  She was going to run away.  But he pulled himself up, deciding that the longer he laid there, the angrier Monica would get.

"Where were you last night?"

"Working," Chandler said automatically, his heart hurting each time he had to lie to her.

Monica began ranting, and Chandler swung his legs off of the sofa, when he heard something about shoes.

"Why do you smell like…lemon and…smoke?  Are you smoking again?"

"No!  No," Chandler suddenly felt stifled, and he quickly stood and shrugged out of his jacket.

"What's on your arm?"

Chandler whipped around, his head spinning.  He looked at the wine stain on his arm, and vaguely heard himself rattle off something about grape juice.

"Chandler…I know you're seeing someone.  Please at least show me enough respect to tell me the truth."

Chandler looked up at Monica, and panic set in.  He wanted to tell her that it wasn't what she thought, and that she had the wrong idea…but somehow, that seemed so clichéd.

"Mon…I…I really—" Chandler stuttered.

"I've been keeping track.  You actually have a schedule, I've figured out.  You are always very late on Mondays and Wednesdays, and you are sometimes late on Thursdays, though that only seems to be once a month or something.  I just…does she know about me?" Monica asked.

"I—I don't," Chandler started, but didn't know how to continue.  His mind was racing—she had his schedule down…did she know he was in therapy?.

"How can you do this and not tell me?" 

Chandler swallowed hard, and looked at Monica, as she struggled not to cry.  He finally decided that he needed to tell her the truth…even if it cost him everything.  He could not live a lie, and she was right…she deserved better…she deserved the truth.

"Look Mon, this…this is a really private thing, and…I was planning on telling you eventually…"

Monica slapped him hard across the face, before he could continue.  He was stunned.

 "Get out!  I never want to see you again."


	3. Aftermath

_Regression_

_~Aftermath~_

He was trembling, and staring at Monica silently.  A large, red mark was forming quickly on his cheek, and tears had formed in his eyes.

Yet he couldn't find his voice.

She refused to meet his gaze; she stormed into the bedroom, and began tossing his things into the living room.  Every once in a while, a primal scream would emanate from the room, as her anger and frustration mounted.

He was lost in a fog, and seemed to be unaware of what was happening to him.  He did not hear the others enter the apartment, expecting breakfast.

She stormed into the living room, red and panting.  The others looked concerned, and asked what was going on.

Still, he did not respond.  He was rooted to his spot, shocked into silence.

His world was crumbling before his eyes, and it was all his fault.

"Chandler, what the hell did you do?" Ross yelled.

"Why do you think it was his fault?" Joey countered.

"Look at Monica…he obviously did…something," Phoebe stated.

"He's fucking someone else," Monica said flatly, kicking some of Chandler's shoes out of her way as she walked into the kitchen.

"What?" came the simultaneous reply from the other four.

Still, he did not move, did not speak, did not respond.

"I am going to kick your ass!" Ross lunged at Chandler, and Joey moved to stop him.

"Wait!  Can we at least hear both sides?" Joey asked.

"What's there to tell?  He's cheating on my sister!" Ross freed himself of Joey's grip, and took a long step toward Chandler.

"Look at me, you son of a bitch," Ross seethed.

"Ross, stop it," Rachel cried, then looked at her best friend, "Monica, what is going on?"

"You can't even look at me," Ross muttered, and swung at Chandler.

He collapsed immediately, his eye pulsating, and his heart hurting.  He felt Ross kick him, and scream at him to get up.

"Get up, I'm not finished with you," Ross screamed.

The words resonated in Chandler's ears.  _I'm not finished with you_.  And suddenly, his reality went black, and he was plunged into a nightmare that had become all too real.

He could hear him all around him; he could smell him, taste him, and he wanted nothing more than to rip off his own skin.  It was the worst feeling in the world, and it hurt more than anything he'd ever known.

"Stop, please…stop," he cried, but the pain refused to subside, "STOP!  No, please…please don't!"

~*~

Ross kicked Chandler, his anger seemingly out of control.  He wanted Chandler to stand up, and to fight, but he just lay there, accepting what was happening with a frustrating indifference.

"Get up, I'm not finished with you."

Suddenly, Chandler froze, and then curled into a strange fetal position.  He was crying, and screaming, though Ross wasn't touching him at all. 

"Stop, please…stop!"

"Chandler…I…I'm not doing anything," Ross said flatly, annoyed at Chandler's inability to put up a fight.

"STOP!  No, please…please don't!" Chandler's cries were desperate, as though he were in real pain.  Ross panicked, and looked up at the others.  Monica stood up from her seat at the kitchen table, and walked toward Chandler.

"Chandler, no one is touching you…" Monica's voice was surprisingly calm and gentle.

"I—can't…please stop…please…I'm sorry…" Chandler was completely gone, and Monica fell to her knees, and pulled him toward her.

"Chandler…" 

"Please…you're hurting me," Chandler whispered.

Monica felt her chest constrict, and a large sob overtook her.  She felt utterly helpless.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.  Chandler jerked, and sat up, as though he'd just awaken from a dream.  He pulled away from Monica, looking completely confused.

"Chandler…what is going on?" Monica asked softly.

Chandler looked at Monica, then up at Ross and then the others.

"I…I'm not…" Chandler shook his head, his voice as shaky as his body.

"I know you're not doing anything wrong…I'm so sorry," Monica whispered.

"I thought…she would help me…but I don't want to know anymore," Chandler mumbled, totally unaware of what Monica had said.

"Who?  What don't you want to know?" Monica asked softly.

But Chandler had turned a ghastly green.  He struggled to get up, and shot Ross a grateful glance when he helped pull him up.  Once he was on his feet, he rushed to the bathroom, and vomited.  The others waited for a silent moment, but eventually, the shower started, and Monica decided that Chandler needed space.  She stood up slowly, and began to pick up the things she'd thrown into the living room.  It was so hard for her to believe that, just moments ago, she was so angry with him; that she wanted him out of her life forever.  She felt guilty, for not listening to him, and scared, because she had no idea what was wrong with him.  She was vaguely aware of the fact that Rachel and Ross were helping her clean, and Phoebe and Joey were fumbling through the kitchen to put on tea, and start breakfast.  Normally, she would stop them, and insist that she take care of it all; but she suddenly felt completely drained of all of her energy, and was determined to save any that she had left for Chandler.

It was the least she could do.

~*~


	4. Secrets

_Regression_

_~Secrets~_

After several minutes of nervous scuttle, the room had settled into an uncomfortable silence. Phoebe and Joey were sat at the kitchen table, both absently playing with their teacups. Ross, Rachel and Monica were all seated on the sofa, staring at the television. It was not on.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Chandler appeared through the white plumes of steam that emptied into the room with him. He walked silently into the bedroom to change, appearing a moment later in sweatpants and a large Knicks sweatshirt. He sat down in the reading chair that was adjacent to the sofa, and pulled his hands into his sleeves.

"Chandler—" Monica started after a long moment of silence.

"Mon, I'm sorry," Chandler, said shakily, "I should have told you…look, I'm not cheating on you…I'm—I've been seeing a therapist about those nightmares."

"What? Honey, why didn't you tell me they'd gotten so bad?"

"Yeah, and what happened earlier? You really freaked us out! And now you're acting like it was no big deal!" Ross jumped in.

"Ross, you punched him in the face!" Joey said from his spot at the table.

"Look, I'm sorry guys, but I really need to talk to Monica alone, okay?" Chandler smiled apologetically.

Grumbling loudly, the group reluctantly stood up and left the apartment. Chandler stood up, and walked over to the sofa, taking a seat next to Monica.

"Mon…the nightmares are bad, but—" Chandler sighed heavily, and looked down at his hands. Monica took his hands in hers, and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"I…I found out something about myself…and…it explains a lot about why I've been having the nightmares and stuff, but…" Chandler took a deep, shaky breath, and struggled to continue.

"Wh-what did you find out?" Monica asked softly.

"I…I can't tell you," Chandler whispered, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

"You can tell me anything," Monica said.

"No…I…I don't want you to hate me," Chandler stood up abruptly.

"Why would I hate you?" Monica furrowed her brow, and swallowed down the panic that was forming inside of her.

"Because…because I have to leave," Chandler said quietly.

"What?" Monica shook her head, as she struggled to understand what Chandler was trying to tell her.

"I have to leave you. And you'll hate me, because I can't tell you why I'm leaving…only that…that staying will only cause you pain."

"Wh-where are you going to go?" Monica croaked.

"I don't know yet…I just know I can't stay," Chandler turned and looked out at the New York skyline. He was amazed at how quickly his life had spiraled out of control. But he knew that he could not stay…because he could not live with this secret between them…and he could not handle the look that would inevitably form on her beautiful face should he tell her the truth.

Monica stared at Chandler's back, her shock and fear consuming her. In the back of her head, she wondered if they would have been better off with Chandler cheating. It would have made more sense than…this. She didn't know what to think, and she didn't know how to react. She knew that he wanted to do what was best for her…but she was not willing to let him go. It seemed to her that he needed her more now, than ever before.

Didn't he?

~*~

Chandler moved out two days later. He checked himself into a hotel, and told Monica that he loved her with all his heart. But that did nothing to quell the pain that had taken residence inside of her. She truly felt that she needed to fight to hold onto him, but she didn't want to scare him. So she let him go, and she suffered the worst of emotional breakdowns because of it. 

After her breakup with Richard, Monica was sure she'd never felt anything quite so painful. She was sure that dying would be a better option than having to face another day alone. But the pain and loneliness that she'd experienced then was miniscule, compared to this.

She'd never realized just how much she loved him, until she'd lost him.

He stared up at the stark white hotel room ceiling, trying to tell himself that he'd done the right thing. But he felt so alone, and he seriously wondered if being alone was such a good idea at the moment.

Sighing sadly, Chandler decided that he should try to get some sleep. He dug into the blankets, and pulled them tightly around him, before slipping into a deep sleep.

The nightmares were worse than they had ever been; and when he awoke, there was no one there to tell him that it was going to be okay.


	5. Revelations

_Home… hard to know what it is if you've never had one_

_Home… I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home_

_That's where the hurt is_

_I know it aches_

_How your heart it breaks_

_And you can only take so much_

Walk on, walk on 

_Leave it behind_

_You've got to leave it behind_

_(Walk On~U2)_

_Regression_

_~Revelations~_

_A large hand was coming down on him…smothering him.  He struggled to free himself, but the hand was too large, and it's owner too strong.  He tried to scream, but his cries were muffled.  The pain was unreal…and the nightmares were just beginning._

Chandler shot up in bed, sweating profusely, and panting.  He lay back down on the bed, and pulled the covers up around him tightly.  He couldn't do this alone…as much as he didn't want his friends involved, the silent nights were becoming too much to bear.

It had been six weeks since he'd moved out of Monica's apartment.  He hadn't spoken to any of them since, and it was killing him.  Sometimes, he would find himself wandering back into the neighborhood, his heart telling him to let them help him.  But then he would picture the looks on their faces when he told them the truth, and he would chicken out.

He'd talked to Renee about it, and she'd suggested having Monica or one of the others sit in on one of his sessions.  He had been reluctant, because he wasn't always fully aware of what he was saying when he was under hypnosis.  But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was the best way to deal with telling Monica.  He would be under, and would not see her immediate reaction—it might make it all easier.

He tossed and turned in bed for several hours, before finally falling into an uncomfortable slumber at morning's light.

Monica was staring out the picture window, trying her damndest not to cry.  It was difficult, but she knew that she had to eventually move on…like the others had seemed to.

Losing Chandler so suddenly had hit the group like a sudden death would have.  He'd simply…disappeared from their lives.  They had all mourned the loss as though it was a death, and eventually the other four had been able to move on.  But Monica was still weighed down by the dark cloud that hovered over her.  She didn't know what to do…she felt like she should be helping Chandler somehow…that she should be searching for him.  But she had made a promise, and she knew that he would never forgive her if she broke it. 

A sudden knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts.  Drying her eyes, she padded over to the door, and opened it slowly.

"Chandler," Monica whispered, as her eyes fell onto the gaunt, shadow of a man that stood before her.

"Mon, I…I can't do this…can you…can you forgive me for—"

"Oh, Chandler," Monica let out a loud sob, and fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly.

"Mon…I need you to…come with me," Chandler said softly.

Monica pulled away, and looked at Chandler, confused.

"Wh-where are we going?" Monica wiped the fresh tears from her eyes, and took his hand in hers.

"Therapy," Chandler smiled sadly, and gripped her hand tightly.

~*~

"Monica, it's so good to meet you.  Chandler has told me so much about you," Renee smiled warmly, and shook Monica's hand.

"All good things, I hope," Monica smiled at Chandler.

"All wonderful things," Renee affirmed, and gestured toward the sofa.

Monica and Chandler took a seat on the sofa, as Renee prepared the room for the hypnosis.  She finished, and took a seat in her chair, before looking straight at Monica.

"Monica, I am not sure how much Chandler has told you about these sessions, but it is important that you understand what is about to happen.  This form of therapy helps to pull out memories from Chandler's past—memories that he has buried so deep within him, that he refuses to acknowledge them consciously.  There are things that Chandler will say that will be shocking, and disturbing, but you need to remember two things; one, do not react—do not cry out loudly, do not touch Chandler.  He will be under, and it is important that he remain undisturbed. And two, it is important that you understand that nothing you hear in here today can leave this room.  Do you understand?"

Monica took a sharp breath, and looked over at Chandler, who was looking at his hands.  She placed her hand on his, and nodded at Renee.

"Okay, let's get started.  Monica, I am going to ask you to sit on the other end of the sofa, and to try and be as quiet as you can."

Monica nodded, and gave Chandler's hand a reassuring squeeze, before following the Doctor's orders.

_*(AN: consider the above a reader's disclaimer as well.  What follows IS disturbing.)_

"Where are you now?" Renee's voice was serene and quiet.  The session had started twenty minutes earlier, and so far Monica had not heard anything out of the ordinary from Chandler.  He talked a lot about his parent's divorce, and how he felt in subsequent years.  They were now talking about Chandler's feelings about Nora's second marriage to a television producer by the name of Harold.  Chandler had been 11 years old when they'd married.

"I'm in my bedroom."

"Are you asleep?"

"I am…pretending."

"Your eyes are closed?"

"Yes."

"Do you hear anything?"

"I can hear…footsteps."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm scared."

"Why?"

"I know that it is…"

"What?"

"I know who it is."

"Is it your mother?"

"No."

"Is it Harold?"

"He is in my bedroom."

"Are your eyes open?"

"No.  I am still pretending."

"What is he doing?"

"He is watching me…I can hear him breathing."

Monica felt her heart constrict…perhaps that was why Chandler hated people watching him sleep?  She felt herself trembling, her head knowing what was coming, but her heart refusing to believe it to be true.

"What is he doing, Chandler?" Renee asked softly.

"He…he's touching me," Chandler's voice had been reduced to a whisper.

"Is he hurting you?"

"No…"

"Are your eyes still closed?"

"Y-yes…I want him to go away, but he is holding me down…he's so strong…"

"What is he doing to you, Chandler?"

"He…he's hurting me," Chandler sobbed, his hands outstretched as though he were fighting someone off.

"Are your eyes still closed?" Renee asked again.  In the room, Chandler's eyes were squeezed shut.

"He is…hurting me."

"Chandler, I want you to go to your safe place.  Remember your safe place?"

"He won't stop…make him stop!" Chandler's cries were desperate and made Monica wince.  She had to fight to stay in her seat.

"Chandler, your safe place, go to your safe place," Renee was speaking quickly now, repeating herself over and over as Chandler continued ranting.

"He's inside of me…I don't want him inside of me...please help me!"

"Your safe place, Chandler now!  Your safe place, go, go to your safe place!"

Chandler took a deep, shaky breath, and his body relaxed slightly.  Monica's body was racked with sobs, and she hugged her knees, and bit down on her lip so hard that it was now bleeding.

"Chandler, open your eyes.  Come home."

Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and took a deep breath.  Renee looked him in the eyes, and talked him down some more.  When he finally seemed calm, she sat back in her chair, and looked over at Monica.

Chandler had forgotten that Monica was there; he started, when he turned and saw her sitting in the opposite corner of the sofa.

"Mon—" Chandler started.

Monica let out a strangled cry, and scooted across the sofa as quickly as she could.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Monica wrapped her arms around Chandler and placed her head on his chest.

Chandler was taken aback by Monica's reaction.  He was certain that she would be appalled by what had happened, and refuse to even look at him, much less touch him again.  Her reaction was not only surprising, it was remarkably comforting, and Chandler felt his soul warm to her embrace, and to her reactive sobs.  

He'd never felt safer.


	6. Progression

_There's beauty in release_

_There's no one left to please_

_But you and me _

_I don¹t blame you for quitting_

_I know you really try_

_If only you could hang on through the night _

_("Safe and Sound"~ Sheryl Crow)_

Regression 

_~Progression~_

_Two Days Later_

Chandler was dozing on his sofa, when he heard a soft knock on his door. He yawned, and shuffled groggily toward the door.  He looked through the peephole, and smiled.  Monica.

Just after his last session, Chandler brought Monica to his apartment—a tiny studio in the Tribeca district—and they talked briefly about what Chandler had revealed that day.

"I think you should take a couple of days, Mon, and let all of this sink in.  I think…we both need the space…just a couple of days, ya know?"

Monica had nodded silently, and left soon after that.  And sure enough, exactly two days later, she was back at his door.

Chandler unlocked and opened the door, and smiled.  

"It's been a couple of days," Monica smiled, and walked into the apartment.

"It has," Chandler said as he closed and locked the door—a new habit of his.

"I've missed you," Monica said softly, "Isn't it strange that I could miss you just as much in two days, as I did in those six long weeks you were gone?" Monica giggled, but sobered quickly when she saw that Chandler was not laughing with her.

"I—Mon, I'm sorry I did all this to you.  I never meant to hurt you, I just—"

"Oh, God, Chandler, I know!" Monica crossed the room and took Chandler's hands in hers, "I didn't mean it like that, I—oh, sweetie…"

"I guess I…I was so sure you would walk away.  I guess that's why I gave you a couple of days to…I just thought that I would give you a chance to walk away," Chandler let a tear flow down his face unchecked.

"Why?  Why would you think that I would do that?  That any of your friends would do that?  I love you, Chandler, and the others love you, so much."

"But I…I'm"

"You were horribly abused, and none of it is your fault.  You did nothing wrong," Monica wiped Chandler's cheeks with her thumbs.

"I was too weak to stop him…I am too weak—"

"You are much stronger than you think you are," Monica whispered, and Chandler smiled.

"I can't believe you're here," he said softly, "I mean, I was—"

"You were wrong."

"I know.  I want to get past this, you know?  I just want to…not remember anymore."

"But wouldn't you rather know everything, and then deal with it?  I mean, you brain must have been trying to tell you something with those awful nightmares, right?"

Chandler smiled and Monica, and pulled away from her, before walking toward the kitchen-area.  He turned to face Monica again.

"Mon, you are so…so much stronger than I am.  Maybe you could handle this, head-on, but…but I'm not so sure that I can."

"Chandler, neither of us know how I would have handled this…I could have turned into a basket case!  And you are handling this unbelievably well…better than you think you are."

Chandler sighed sadly, and nodded. 

"Are you hungry?" Monica asked.  The randomness of the question startled Chandler.

"Uh, I—I guess?"

"You look like you need food.  I'm gonna cook you something," Monica said sternly.

Chandler just nodded, knowing that it was no use arguing with Monica once she set her mind to do something.

God, he envied her strength sometimes.

"What is it?" Chandler wrinkled his nose at the large yellow vegetable in front of him.  He and Monica were at the grocery store, a trip taken after Monica had discovered that Chandler had nothing but cold cereal and beer.

"It's called a spaghetti squash," Monica said, as she placed the oblong squash into the basket.

"Does it taste like spaghetti?"

"Well, it shreds like spaghetti noodles…and you can put tomato sauce on it."

"But what—" 

"Chandler, trust me, okay?" Monica laughed.

Chandler shrugged, and pushed the cart down the next aisle, stopping abruptly at the edge of the aisle.  He was staring straight ahead, and Monica felt panic rise inside of her.

"Chandler, what is it?"

Suddenly, Chandler's face broke into a wide grin, and he skipped across the aisle.

"Mon, we GOTTA get these!" Chandler cried, as he held up two pre-packaged, preservative-filled, Hostess chocolate pudding pies.

"Chandler, those things are nothing but sugar!" Monica scolded.  Inside, she was completely shaken.  Chandler had scared her to death, and he had no idea.

"Please, Mon?  They're so goood!"  Chandler batted puppy dog eyes at her.

"Fine," Monica smiled, and laughed when she saw Chandler jump up and down.  It was almost like he'd completely forgotten about what had happened to him.  She felt a surge of warmth run through her, as she realized that he seemed to be drawing energy through her presence.  She vowed to herself, in that moment, to make sure that she was always there for him, no matter what.

No matter what.

AN: I thought I'd lighten it up just a bit…the last chapter drained me, ya know?  lol.


	7. Reactions

AN: Special thanks to Jenni for her input on this chapter!! *hugs*…keep those British ass-kicking boots on—that stupid car is STILL there!!! ;-)

_Regression_

_~Reactions~_

"Mon, I…I don't know if this is such a good idea," Chandler said softly, as Monica put the finishing touches on dinner.  Chandler was hunched in the corner of the kitchen, leaning up against the sink.  Monica put down her spoon, and turned to look at Chandler.

"Sweetie, this is entirely your decision…you can tell them as much, or as little, as you want to, okay?  But don't underestimate your friends.  They love you, and they have all missed you terribly."

"I know, but—" Chandler shrugged and looked at his hands, as he nervously picked at his cuticles.

"Chandler, look at me," Monica, placed her hands on Chandler's shoulders, and squeezed them reassuringly.  Chandler looked up at her slowly.

"If you feel uncomfortable, I can cancel this dinner right now."

"No…no, I want to see them…I miss them," Chandler smiled.

"Please let me know, if you feel in any way uncomfortable while they are here, okay?"

Chandler nodded, and a small smile played upon his lips.

"Thank you, Mon…I—I'm sorry—"

"If you apologize one more time, I'm gonna lock you in an ATM vestibule with Janice!"

Chandler chuckled, "That's more like it."

"What?"

"I feel better when you…treat me like you used to…even if I act—"

"I will try my best to berate you and humiliate you in front of our friends, then," Monica laughed, happy that Chandler's mood lightened.  Deep down, she was slightly concerned about his seemingly sporadic mood swings.  There were moments, when he acted as though nothing had ever happened…then he would grow sullen, and dwell on it.  Monica knew that she would have to adjust to Chandler's strange new moods…she knew that he might be this way for years.

"Ooh, Mon, it smells great!" Ross and Rachel walked into the apartment moments later.

"Thanks," Monica smiled.

"Chandler!" Rachel's smiled broadened, and she pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"Hey, Rach," Chandler laughed, and hugged her back.

"It's great to see you, man," Ross said, and hugged Chandler once Rachel had released him.

"So, _this_ is the big secret you've been keeping from us, huh?" Rachel winked at Monica.

"What?" Monica asked with a feigned innocence.

"Well, your mood _did _changed dramatically this week…and now we know why."

"Chandler and I needed to—" Monica started to explain her reasons for not telling her best friend and older brother why she hadn't told them she was talking to Chandler again.

"Mon, it's okay, we totally understand," Rachel winked.

"Alright, Joey's here, let's eat!" Joey exclaimed, as he and Phoebe walked into the apartment.

"Oh my God!" Phoebe saw Chandler before Joey did, but Joey got to him first.

"Where the hell did you go!?" Joey yelled, as he wrapped his arms around Chandler and picked him up off the ground.

"Okay, Joe," Chandler laughed.  He pried himself free of Joey, and hugged Phoebe.

"It's so good to see you, Chandler," Phoebe whispered into his hair.

"It's good to be seen," Chandler smiled, and Phoebe slapped him on the arm playfully.

*

"So, Chandler, what happened?  I mean, where did you go?  Are you back for good?" Rachel had begun the interrogation as soon as the group had sat down for dinner, but Chandler had insisted that they wait until after the meal.

He'd never seen four people eat so fast.

And now Rachel was firing the questions again, and was soon joined by Phoebe.

"Why are you so skinny?  Do you still live in New York?  Did you quit your job?"

"Okay, okay, guys.  Look, I promise I'll answer your questions, but I need you to just…just listen, okay?"

The others nodded silently.  Chandler took a deep breath, and felt Monica take his hand in hers.  He was grateful that she was there, because he wasn't sure he could get through this.

"Monica…Monica really had to convince me to come back…I…I guess I didn't have faith in any of you…I…I didn't have faith in myself.  But…but I hope you guys will understand."

"Chandler, whatever it is, we can help you," Rachel said softly.  Chandler smiled gratefully, but it was clear that his mind was on what he was about to tell them.

"I…I've been going to therapy…and…I didn't want to tell you guys, because I didn't want you to think I was…to think there was something wrong with me."

"Is that it?  Hell, Chandler, _I'm_ in therapy," Ross laughed, but sobered quickly when the others shot him an odd look.

"Anyway, I suppose that's why Monica thought I was cheating on her.  The thing is…the therapy has opened a lot of doors…doors to my childhood that I had forced myself to forget about."

"What did you find out?" Phoebe asked.

"I—" Chandler's head dropped, and he sighed heavily.  Monica scooted closer to him, and whispered something in his ear.  He shook his head, and looked back up at the others.

"I was…abused," Chandler's voice was small, and it took the others a moment to comprehend what he'd said.

"A-abused?  When?  Who?" Joey's face reddened, and his breathing had increased.  Chandler looked over at him fondly, and smiled.  

"Joey, it was a long time ago," Chandler whispered, and watched as Joey relaxed slightly.

"You were…hit?" Rachel asked.

"The abuse was mostly emotional, and—and sexual," Chandler felt his throat close up, and he started seeing yellow spots.  He was visibly sweating, and trembling.

"Oh," Rachel said, stunned.  

The room held an eerie silence for a long moment.  Chandler was beginning to fear the worst.  He wondered if his first instincts were correct; maybe he should have never told them.  His emotions began to overtake him, and when he spoke, his words were filled with desperation.

"Somebody, please say something," his voice cracked, and a fat tear slid down his face.

"I—I have to go," Phoebe whispered, and left the apartment.  Chandler felt his heart break.  They really were disgusted with him…he was going to lose everything.

"Chandler," Rachel walked up to Chandler, sat on the sofa next to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Tell us what we can do," She whispered, and closed her eyes when she felt him relax slightly.

"Who—Where—I'm gonna kill him," Joey stuttered, and began to pace the room.

"Joey, stop," Monica said sadly, her hand still tightly gripping Chandler's.

"He—he was my stepfather…he's not anymore…I don't know where he is," Chandler said softly.  

"Do you…are you going to try to find him?" Rachel asked.

"I—I don't know," Chandler said honestly.  He looked over at Ross, who was still seated in the reading chair, and was staring forward blankly.

"Ross?" Chandler said hesitantly.

Ross shook himself out of his reverie, and looked over at Chandler.  Ross looked at his best friend, and noted that his eyes were dull, and flat.  The crinkles that usually framed his eyes were gone, because his smile was gone.  Ross willed all of this to be a dream—it was too hard to believe otherwise.

"Chandler—I…I don't know what to say," Ross looked at his hands in shame.  His ears were burning, and his throat was dry.

"You don't have to say anything," Chandler smiled, "Just promise to be my friend."

"I can do that," Ross looked up and smiled, "I can definitely do that."

Chandler nodded, and felt relieved to find that his world had not completely fallen apart.  His friends were here.  Monica was here.  He was going to be okay.  He closed his eyes, and his mind wandered to Phoebe.  He wondered if he would ever see her again.  He wondered if she was disgusted with him.  What could he say to her?  He felt a sadness weighing on him—he was not aware of how much Phoebe really meant to him—and she was most likely out of his life.

"You okay?" Monica asked softly, seeing the pained expression on Chandler's face.

"Yeah…I just…I wonder if she'll be back."

Monica nodded, and felt a twinge of resentment toward her eccentric friend.  She wondered what Phoebe was thinking…she wondered if she knew how much she had hurt Chandler with her actions.

A minute later, Phoebe came back into the apartment, carrying a large black canvas bag.  She sat down on the coffee table, and began pulling out candles, incense, teas, cards, and a few unrecognizable objects.

"Um, Pheebs, wh-what are you doing?" Monica asked.

"Aromatherapy…healing candles…strength…Chandler's aura needs cleansing…and—"

"Phoebe," Chandler sat up forward, and took her free hand in his.  He pulled a lavender candle out of the other, and grasped the other hand.

Phoebe looked down at the floor, and stifled a sob.  She looked up at Chandler, and smiled, "I can make you better…I can," she whispered desperately.

"Yeah?  Alright then, cleanse away," Chandler kissed one of her hands, and sat back on the sofa.

Phoebe paused for a moment, then gathered herself, before looking up at him again, her face alight with confidence.

"You're going to be fine," Phoebe smiled.

Chandler looked around at the people that surrounded him, and nodded.

"Yeah, I am," he whispered.


	8. Realities

**AN: Me again.  Gonna try to get through the writer's block, but we'll see.  I'm only doing this for Sal ;).**

**Anyhoo, if you are interested (and golly gee whiz why _wouldn't_ you be?) I finally updated my bio, so that now I will try to post up what I am updating, and what is in progress.  Doubtful that this will always be accurate, but hey, it gives you a chance to check out the first pic from the film (_Big Fish_) my dream-husband Ewan McGregor is working on right now, down in Arkansas…or Alabama…er, one of those southern states, anyway, lol.**

**Anywayz, on with the, uh…fic.  It's kinda crappy, but I can fix it later if it makes no sense…heh.**

_Regression_

_~Realities~_

"Are you watching this?  Because this show is horrible, honestly, Chandler," Monica and Chandler were sat on Monica's sofa, two days after Chandler's revelation to the rest of the group.  Chandler had put up with an exhausting list of questions from his friends, most of which he didn't really know the answer to.  That morning, Monica had insisted that the group leave the two of them in peace, so that Chandler could get some rest.

Monica picked up the remote, and began flipping through the channels.  When Chandler didn't reply, or protest, she looked over at him.

"Chandler?"

Chandler jerked his head toward her, the momentary fog passing over his eyes.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Monica placed the remote on the coffee table, and turned to face Chandler fully.  

"Y-yeah, I just…" Chandler sighed deeply, and looked over at the television blankly.

"What's the matter?"

"I…I've been thinking about what Rachel asked me.  About whether or not I was going to try to find Harold."

"Is that…is that something you'd want to do?" Monica asked curiously.

"I…I'm not really sure.  I mean, I think it could be helpful, in some ways…but then I wonder if I am strong enough to…face him."

"Well, if it's something you feel you need to do, you don't have to go alone.  I'll go with you…and I'm sure the others would too."

"I don't know what I want…or what I need right now.  I'm sorry Mon, I'm just sort of still confused, I guess."

"It's okay…take your time.  I'm not going anywhere," Monica smiled, and laid her head on Chandler's chest.  He wrapped his arms around her, and rested his head on the back of the couch, his exhaustion overwhelming him.

_"Shhh, stop crying, you little baby."_

_"Stop it!"_

_"Shhh."_

_"No!  No, get away!"_

Monica was startled awake when Chandler's body convulsed, and she sat up and looked at him, concern lining her eyes.

"Chandler," Monica sat up on the sofa, and placed a comforting hand on his chest.

"No!" Chandler cried out desperately.

"Shhh, Chandler, it's okay!  Shhh," Monica soothed, as she tried again to rouse him from his dark dream.

"Stop!" Chandler's eyes shot open, and he shoved Monica off of him violently.

Monica fell onto the floor, as Chandler curled up onto the couch.

"Don't touch me!  Just get away, get away!"

Monica sat up slowly, slightly dazed by her fall.  She pulled herself up slowly, and reached out to Chandler, who was still clearly in the midst of a horrible regressive dream.

"Chandler, wake up!" Monica said again, and reached out to touch him.

Chandler felt an intrusive hand near him, and shoved it away, before kicking the intruder away from him.  He suddenly felt the darkness lift, and he blinked rapidly, as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings.

He wasn't in his mother's old house—he wasn't in his old bedroom.  He was—at Monica's.  He took a deep shaky breath, and struggled to sit up.  Belatedly, he wiped the tears from his face, and scanned the apartment, looking for Monica.

He found her immediately, curled up on the floor, and sobbing.

"Mon…what's wrong?" Chandler slid off of the sofa, and placed a hand on her back.

"It's nothing," Monica sniffled, her sobbing abruptly halting when she realized that Chandler was finally awake.

"Mon—" Chandler moved to pick Monica up, but she cried out in pain.

"What's going on?" Chandler whispered.  "Are you okay?"

Monica sniffled again, and sat up slowly.  She struggled to look up at Chandler, and when she finally did, she saw the confusion in his eyes, and she knew that he really had no idea what he had done.  She didn't know what to tell him—if she told him the truth, he would be devastated.  She knew he would never hurt her intentionally, after all.  But what could she say?  

"Chandler, I…I don't know what to, um, to tell you," Monica stuttered, as a small shudder ran through her.

"Mon, please just tell me what happened," Chandler pleaded, and the look of desperation on his face forced Monica to relent.

"I—I think you were having a really bad nightmare.  And when you pushed me away, I should have just backed away…I just wanted you to wake up…"

Chandler's eyes widened, and he felt his throat close up.  He backed away from Monica, and she began regretting her decision to say anything.

"I—I did this to you?  I hurt you?" Chandler choked, his eyes welling up again.

"Chandler, it wasn't your fault.  I knew that you were fighting him off in your dream—"

"What did I do?" Chandler asked softly, as he stared at his own hands.

"You just pushed me off of you…and then I—I tried to wake you up...and I knew I shouldn't have—"

"What did I do?" Chandler's voice was more forceful, but it cracked under the strain, and Monica could see, as he looked up, that he was breaking down.

"You—you kicked me away…but it wasn't your fault, Chandler!" Monica said quickly, hoping to cushion the blow.

But it wasn't enough.  Chandler broke down, his body shaking as he let out the inevitable sobs of regret.

"Chandler, it's okay—"

"Did I hurt you?  Are you okay?  What did I do?" Chandler asked quickly, his words staccatoed by hiccups.

"I think you just bruised a rib.  I'm fine," Monica said reassuringly.

"Oh, God," Chandler shook his head, and stood up abruptly.

"Chandler—"

"I have to go," Chandler said, as he gathered his shoes and coat.

"No, please don't leave like this, Chandler, please!"

"Mon, you need to stay away from me!  Look at what I did to you!  No, it's better if I go."

"Chandler, please, I am begging you—"

"Mon, I hurt you!  I kicked you!"

"Please don't leave me!  Please," Monica begged, as she crossed the room to where he was now standing.

A long, stiff silence filled the room, as each person studied the floor.

"You don't want me like this," Chandler whispered at last.

"Yes, I do.  This was my fault, Chandler—"

"No, it wasn't!  And stop saying that it was!  Please!" Chandler yelled, his frustration with himself shining through.

Monica started, and stepped back unconsciously.  The wounded look on Chandler's face made her realize what she had just done.  He thought she was afraid of him now.  And maybe deep down, she was, a little.  Her bruised rib was throbbing, a sad reminder of what he had done.  But she saw the look of defeat in Chandler's eyes, and she knew that stepping away from him, at that moment, was the worst thing she could have done.

She couldn't find her voice to protest, when he turned and walked out the door.


	9. Wash

_Regression_

_~Wash~_

He ran from her apartment, at full speed; he ran despite the knots in his sides, and the way his legs kept threatening to give out.  He ran until he reached his own apartment.  10…12…15 blocks.  He didn't know; he didn't care.  He crashed into his apartment, and collapsed onto the floor, in a fit of sobs.  His body contracted as his muscles cramped, and he began coughing violently, in an attempt to catch his breath.

What had he been thinking?  He was an idiot if he thought he could just go back to a normal life, living as though nothing had happened.  In the end, he was only going to hurt himself, and anyone who was stupid enough to love someone like him.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, writhing in pain, both physical and emotional. At some point, he must have drifted to sleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was calling his name, and his apartment was filled with the dusty pink glow of the very early morning.

She had debated over whether or not to chase after him.  She'd thought about it for over an hour.  And eventually, she had to call the others, because she just didn't know what to do.  As the sun began its ascent over the city, the five friends made their way to Chandler's apartment.

They'd found him, sprawled face down onto the floor, his front door wide open.  They were almost afraid to enter, and while the others remained paralyzed with confusion and melancholy, Monica approached his sleeping form, and attempted to rouse him.

"Chandler?  Are you okay?" It was Monica.

Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and for a moment, he wondered why his body and head were aching so badly.  It all came back to him in a flash, as he groaned and turned over.

"Monica," he whispered, but refused to meet her gaze.  His head shot up, when Rachel sneezed.  He looked at the other four, who had yet to cross the threshold of his apartment, and he wondered if Monica had told them what he had done.  He struggled to look up at Ross, but hung his head in shame instead.

Monica looked over at the others, and they stepped into the apartment gingerly, closing the door behind them.

"Sweetie, we need to talk about what happened," Monica whispered.

"Do…do they know?" Chandler's voice was shaky, and his eyes landed on Ross' shoes.

"Yes," Monica looked up at Ross, willing him with her eyes to say something to his best friend.

The bond between the siblings never seemed more important.  Ross took the hint, and knelt down next to Chandler and Monica.

"Chandler…I'm not angry…if that's what you're thinking," Ross said slowly.

"Right," Chandler said incredulously, "I hurt your little sister, Ross."

"You didn't do it on purpose!  This isn't your fault—"

"Honey, I don't want you beating yourself up over what happened," Monica added.

"I know, but—" Chandler sighed, and shook his head.  He really didn't know; he didn't know what to think, and he didn't know what to do.  He loved Monica, he loved her so much it hurt.  But the idea that he had hurt her was nagging at him.  She and the others began pointing out that he hadn't done it intentionally; that it was out of his control.

"Mon, that's the problem!  Don't you see it?  It was out of my control what I did to you, and that means I might do it again!  Doesn't that scare you?" Chandler was standing now, and facing the other five.

"No!  Chandler, it was my fault for trying to wake you!  I'm not scared!"

"Well I am," Chandler's voice cracked, and he sunk down into the sofa, "I'm scared to death," he whispered.

"There must be something that you can do," Rachel ventured, "something maybe your therapist can suggest?"

Chandler looked up at Rachel, and she noted that he didn't seem to have any hope left.  It was as though he had already given up on everything in his life, and that he was using last night's incident as an excuse to let it all go, and sink into a hole of self-doubt and depression.

"I don't—" Chandler shook his head, but Monica sat down next to him suddenly, and took his hand.

"She's right, Chandler!  I'm sure Renee will be able to help us," Monica smiled at Chandler hopefully.

Chandler finally looked Monica in the eye, and without another thought, relented.

~*~

"Tell me Chandler," Renee probed two days later, "what is it that scares you most about this?"

"Hurting her…or someone else…" Chandler mumbled.

"Like your children?" Renee interrupted.

"Oh, we don't have any children," Monica corrected.  She and Chandler were seated on Renee's couch, their hands intertwined.  As Monica spoke, Chandler reddened slightly.

Renee looked over at Chandler, and gave him an encouraging smile.

"She-she means future children," Chandler said, though he wouldn't look at Monica, "I—I told her that I thought…someday we would be married and th-that we'd have children together," Chandler's voice was small, and childlike.  He stared at the floor, fearful of Monica's reaction to his revelation.

"Y-you told her you wanted…really?" Monica smiled, and pulled herself closer to Chandler.  She felt tears spring up in her eyes, as she tried to will him to look at her.

"Yeah…I mean, I understand if you don't—um…I know that you might not want—" Chandler stuttered.

"Chandler…I…" Monica wanted to assure Chandler that she had dreamed of spending her life with him, but for some reason she couldn't articulate her thoughts.  Her mind seemed to freeze up, and she simply stared at Chandler.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Chandler pulled away from Monica slightly.

"Why doesn't it matter, Chandler?" Renee interrupted, reminding the couple that they were sitting in a therapy session.

"I—I don't think I should have children," Chandler said sadly.

"What?" Monica said, shocked.

"Why?" Renee asked calmly.

"Because of what happened the other night.  And because I don't want them to hate me for all that I've done…" Chandler choked up, and fought down a persistent sob.

"Chandler…" Monica placed her hand on his knee.

"Chandler, we need to resolve this.  You keep talking like you've done something wrong.  But you—"

"I did, and I will—" Chandler sobbed.

"You didn't _do anything wrong_!  Chandler, look at me," Renee said sternly.

Chandler looked up slowly, and sniffled audibly.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Renee said a bit more softly.

"I hurt the one person I need most," Chandler replied darkly.

"That doesn't mean that you'll hurt her again…or anyone else—"

"My dreams," Chandler interrupted, "have changed."

"I'm sorry?" Renee looked puzzled, and Monica looked worried.  Chandler's voice was so grim, and his hands were fisted up tightly.

"I see him now, and I see what he's doing.  And I retaliate.  I hurt him. I hit him and I hit him, and I hit him until he stops moving…until he stops breathing," Chandler's voice raised more and more with each word he spoke, until he was almost screaming.  Then his voice suddenly dropped, as though he didn't want the others to hear the last words he spoke.  There is a short moment of silence, as Chandler catches his breath.

"You kill him, in your dreams," Renee said flatly.

"Yes," Chandler whispered hoarsely.

"And this is what really scares you, right?"

"Yes," Chandler said sadly.

"Chandler, this is perfectly normal," Renee said, as she sat back in her chair, "You're angry, and you have every right to be.  Don't be ashamed of these dreams, Chandler, because they're only dreams.  Dreams don't kill people."

"But what about what I did?" Chandler said quietly.

"An unfortunate incident, that is very unlikely to happen again…as long as Monica doesn't try to wake you mid-dream.  Monica," Renee looked at Monica sternly, "it's important that you let him go through this.  As painful as it may be to listen to, he needs this outlet."

"I understand," Monica whispered, and smiled at Chandler.

~*~

"I think Renee is right," Monica said later, as she and Chandler walked into Chandler's apartment, "I think that this is a phase, and it will pass," she smiled.

"I hope so," Chandler said, his face revealing his discomfort with his dreams, and with Renee's theory.

"Honey, it's going to be a slow process, we just need to have patience."

"How long are you willing to wait, Monica?" Chandler turned to look at Monica, his eyes dark, "What if this 'phase' lasts months…or—or years!  What if it never really passes?  What if I _never _get to the point where I am comfortable being a father?  What then?"

"Chandler, I told you that I would be here, no matter what."

"No, not out of obligation, or compassion.  Because it's what you want.  Really, Monica, think about it.  You want children…you need them, I know you do.  You can't be with someone who won't have them, otherwise you'd still be with Richard.  Tell me the truth Monica, please.  How long can you wait?"

Monica looked up at Chandler, and felt her heart constrict.  He deserved the truth, he deserved to know where she stood.  It was the least she could do for him.  Wasn't it?

"I don't know," she finally whispered, and tried to ignore Chandler's crestfallen expression.

He covered his dejection quickly, and smiled tightly.

"Fair enough," he said quietly, his voice not allowing for much more, "excuse me," he whispered, and walked into the bathroom wordlessly.

Monica watched him walk away, and sighed.  She didn't want to admit it to him, because she didn't want to admit it to herself.

Her future with Chandler was beginning to look dim.

_Oh please, let it rain today_

_This city is so filthy, like my mind in ways_

_Oh, was a time, like a clean, new taste_

_Smiling eyes before me, inches from my face_

_Wash my love _

_Wash my love, yeah..._

_Sin the sale, buying just a need_

_Just who planted, all the devils seeds_

_And what the truth, and the truth that lies at home_

_It's on the inside, and I can't get it off, yeah..._

_Wash my love _

_Wash my love, yeah..._

_What's clean is pure, but hey, I'm white on the outside, though I stray_

_What she don't know today, might kill us both tomorrow, bring it back someway_

_Bring it back, bring it back, back to the clean form, to the pure form_

_Wash my love_

_('Wash'~Pearl Jam)_


	10. Let Me Down Easy

_Regression_

_~Let Me Down Easy~_

_If you told me to follow_

_You know I'd fly for you_

_Here I go; I may fall_

_But I will try_

(Let Me Down Easy, ©2001 C. Isaak)

He hadn't seen her for three days.  He wasn't quite sure if what they'd had was a fight, but he knew that he was wary bout calling her, and thought it best that she contact him when she was ready.

Problem was, he really needed her right now.

When he'd emerged from the bathroom three days ago, after twenty minutes of trying-his-damndest-not-to-cry, he was not surprised to see that she was gone.  He was not surprised when she hadn't called the following day.  But now he was beginning to panic.  Maybe she'd decided that if he didn't want children, she wouldn't waste her time.

God, he missed her.

He slumped across his apartment, and collapsed onto the sofa.  He wriggled around for several minutes, before giving up.  The sofa was too new, too hard.  It wasn't what he was used to.

It wasn't hers.

The phone rang three times before he noticed it.  He reached for the phone lazily.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"Chandler?"

"Hey, Mom," Chandler sighed.  He'd been expecting this call for over a month now.  Nora was one of the few people he'd called soon after _finding out_.

"Chandler, I just fly in from Paris, and I find this _indecipherable _message from my son!  What is going on?"

"Mom, I really think you should come to New York.  We need to talk."

"I'm in New York Thursday to see my publisher.  Can it wait until Thursday?"

"Mom, I made that call over a month ago.  I'm sure it can wait two more days," Chandler laughed.

"Well, whatever it is, we're going to have to squeeze it in between my meeting and my pedicure appointment," Nora said in her typical, rushed manner.

"Yeah, sure Mom, no problem," Chandler said.  _No problem.  Your ex-husband just happens to be a demented child molester, but we should be able to resolve it in about twenty minutes._

"Okay, see you Thursday, sweetie!" Nora chirped, then hung up the phone.

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, and dropped the phone onto the sofa.

*

_Filthy, disgusting, sinful, hateful, bastard-child!  _

The remnants of the voices echoed in his head, as he was pushed into consciousness.  He opened his eyes, and caught his breath slowly.  He sat up slowly, and cursed and reveled in the silence simultaneously.  

It was Thursday, the day he was scheduled to meet with his mother, sometime between her numerous appointments.

And it had been five days since he'd spoken with Monica.

The thought that she had, in fact, decided that he wasn't worth her effort hurt him more that he was willing to acknowledge.  He wanted to be gallant, and let her go, let her find someone who was untainted by sin, and not burdened by his past.  She deserved better; she deserved more.

But he wanted no one else.

"So, I tell the guy, 'Look, I know that you're new and all, but I have been doing this for _years_, and I know my market!'  I knew I shouldn't have gotten a new editor," Nora rambled.  She and Chandler were seated at a crowded, upscale restaurant (Nora's choice), having a late lunch.  Nora was picking through an exotic salad that Chandler had likened to a bowlful of weeds.  He had ordered some kind of Thai chicken, but had yet to touch it.

"Mom, I thought your old editor retired," Chandler pointed out quietly.

"Ah, technicalities," Nora scoffed, and shoved a forkful of weeds into her mouth, "Now, she muttered through her food, "What is going on with you?  You look horrible.  You're so skinny!  And sit up straight."

"Mom, it—it's about Harold," Chandler started slowly.

"Harold?  Harold who?"

"Your ex-husband?" Chandler said exasperatedly.

"Oh, _Harold_!  What about him?  Have you seen him?  God, he's gotten so _fat_!" Nora giggled.

Chandler blanched, and Nora sobered.  "What is it, sweetie?"

"You-you've seen him?  L-lately, I mean."

"Oh, you know, he's _always_ around," Nora sighed, "He always did have that _leach_-like quality about him.

"Are you…seeing him again?" Chandler asked incredulously.

"What?  No!" Nora said, the tone in her voice telling Chandler that. In fact, she was.

"Mom!" Chandler warned.

"Look, honey, he's doing really well for himself now, and…honestly, I'm not entirely sure _why_ we divorced anyway.  And besides, it's nothing serious…it's mostly just sex."

Chandler felt nauseous.  He needed to get out of there; he needed to get away from…this.  Everything around him was hazy, and he began sweating.  He reached for his water, but his hands were trembling too violently.  He struggled to breathe, but he felt his lungs collapsing in on him.

"Chandler?  Chandler, are you listening to me?" Nora's brow furrowed.

"You…you can't see him, Mom, he's—" Chandler stuttered, as he struggled to stand.

"Chandler, what are you talking about?"

"I—" the room was spinning, and Chandler had to grip onto the side of the table to steady himself.

"Chandler you aren't making any sense," Nora sighed, "and I'm late for my appointment!" Nora looked at her watch, and moved to gather her bag, as her son collapsed onto the posh restaurant floor.

*

_Demon!  Filthy beast!  Fiend! _

He opened his eyes, and for a moment, was not sure where he was.  The walls around him were stark white, and there was medical equipment above his head.  His head was throbbing. He wondered just how he'd ended up in a hospital.

"Chandler?"

Chandler blinked, and looked to his right, as Monica stood and raked her hand through his hair.

"Monica, wh-what are you doing here?" Chandler asked softly.

"Your mother called me.  She said you freaked out on her, and fainted at the restaurant.  How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," Chandler said, and sat up slowly, ignoring the sharp pain in his head, "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Chandler," Monica sat down on his bed, and took his hand in both of hers, "I've missed you _so_ much.  I wanted to call, but—"

"It's okay," Chandler smiled, "I wouldn't want me, if I were you."

"I admit, that I did need space, and time to deal with all that has happened, and what I feel…but these past five days, all I could think about, was how much I needed you," Monica smiled, as a single, iridescent tear made it's way down her cheek.

"_You_ needed _me_?"

Monica sniffled loudly, and wiped her face, "Uh huh," she cried and nodded.

"But—"

"Chandler, I _love_ you, and I need you, and I've just been _miserable_ this past week!  I am SO sorry for what I said, about not being sure.  I am sure.  I am sure that I want to be with you, no matter what," Monica was grinning wildly.

He wanted to believe her.  Oh, how he wanted to believe her.  But her bedside declaration was so desperate that it made him want to doubt her.

But at this moment, he _needed_ to believe her.  

So he kissed her, hard and long, and refused to let her go, if only for one night.


	11. Finding The Floor

_Regression_

_~Finding the Floor~_

_Another day that I can't find my head _

_My feet don't look they're my own _

_I'll try and find the floor below to stand _

_And I hope I reach it once again _

"Chandler, you have to tell her!" Monica argued.  She and Chandler were seated in Chandler's apartment, after Chandler's release from the hospital.

"I know, I just…I don't know how she'll react…what if she tells _him_?" Chandler pulled a bitter face.

"Chandler, she's your _mother_," Monica sighed.

"She's not a normal mother though, Mon.  She's not like your—well, like _Ross'_ mother," Chandler smiled knowingly.

"Ha-ha," Monica smiled sadly.

"Look, maybe I just won't say anything," Chandler shrugged.

"Chandler, you _have_ to tell her!  What if she decides to marry him again?"

Chandler shuddered, and shook his head.

"Sweetie, I'm just saying, the sooner you tell her, the better it's gonna be.  She needs to distance herself, and you from him.  Have you thought about what you're gonna do if she brings him to see you?"

"Monica, I don't want to talk about this anymore," Chandler yelled harshly, and stood up quickly.  He immediately regretted it, as a sharp pain shot through his temple.  He swayed slightly, but ignored it, and walked across the room.

"I—I'm sorry," Monica said softly, her mind still reeling from Chandler's sudden outburst.

"No, I'm sorry," Chandler sighed from his place in front of his living room window, "I just…I really don't want to think about seeing him again…I don't think I'm ready…I don't think I can—"

"Chandler, it's okay," Monica stood up, and crossed the room, "I shouldn't have pushed the issue.  I just…I can't believe your mother, ya know?"

Chandler nodded, and smiled, as he pulled Monica toward him.

"I don't want to talk about my mother," he muttered sadly.

Monica smiled, and kissed Chandler softly.

"We don't have to talk…about anything," Monica whispered in between kisses.

Chandler grinned, and kissed Monica deeply.  As things became more heated, Monica led him toward the sofa.  She fell on top of him, giggling softly as Chandler moved his hands down her back.

They were like flashes.  Images that invaded his psyche, uninvited.  He squeezed his eyes together tighter, and pulled Monica closer.  She ran her hand up his shirt, and the flashes became much more.

"Stop, stop!" Chandler suddenly cried, and pushed Monica off of him.

"Chandler, what is it?" Monica asked, panic lining her voice.

"I don't know," Chandler was trembling, and his ears were burning.

"Okay," Monica said softly, and reached out to touch Chandler gingerly.  She didn't want to upset him, and was still unsure as to whether she should even touch him.  To her relief, he leaned toward her, and she wrapped her arms around him protectively.

There was a long silence.  Monica listened, as Chandler fought to stifle sobs.  After several minutes, he sat up to face her, but still refused to look directly at her.

"I—I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his eyes on his fidgeting hands.

"Don't be." Monica whispered sternly.

"I don't know what happened," he continued, as though he hadn't heard Monica.

"Chandler, we haven't been intimate since you found out…this is a huge step for you…for us," Monica reasoned.

"It's not fair…to you," Chandler said softly.

Monica placed her hand under his chin, and lifted his head slowly.  She looked into his bloodshot eyes, and smiled.

"What happens to you happens to me.  We'll get through this."

Chandler nodded, but inside, wondered if they really would.

~*~

"Well, I must say, _two_ lunches in _one_ month is a bit of a record for us, isn't it, dear?" Nora laughed, as she and Chandler sat down at a small table in the corner of a small, hole-in-the-wall Cambodian restaurant (Chandler's choice) two weeks later.

"Mom, I _really_ need to talk to you," Chandler replied softly, as the waiter set two red plastic water glasses on the table.

"Honestly Chandler, could you have picked a filthier place?" Nora whined, as she swatted a large fly out of her face.

"It's great food," Chandler shrugged, and smiled slightly at Nora's reaction to his favourite little getaway.

Chandler had discovered the restaurant a few weeks after moving into his new apartment.  It was dark, dirty and small, and Chandler had loved it immediately.  He felt like he could just hide away from the world in this tiny haven.  To top it off, the food just happened to be extraordinary.

He'd brought Monica here, about three weeks ago.  He'd been certain that she'd baulk at the grimy floor and grease-splattered ceilings, but she'd fallen in love with it for all the reasons he had.  

_"It's like we can just hide here, and no one would ever think to look through those windows up front, ya know?" Monica smiled, and stirred her noodle dish with her wooden chopsticks._

_"Exactly.  I feel just…so comfortable," Chandler smiled sheepishly._

_"I'm happy you finally shared your secret place with me," Monica winked._

_"You know me better than anyone…better than I know myself, I think," Chandler studied the gaudy plastic tablecloth intently, his fingers nervously tracing the avocado green and gold flowers that dotted the brown plastic._

"I never really knew, though," Monica whispered, as she placed her hand on his, "just how strong you were."

If she could see him now.  Shaking like a leaf, as his mother chattered incessantly about her…shoes.

"I think they are actually sticking to this floor," Nora moaned, as Chandler drew himself out of his memory, and rejoined the conversation.

"Mom, I really need to talk to you," Chandler repeated.  He was starting to sound like a fucking broken record.

"What is it?" Nora finally sighed, as she pulled a long, thin cigarette out of her silver cigarette case.

"Can you please not smoke around me?  I'm trying to quit—again," Chandler muttered the last word.

Nora sighed impatiently, and tossed the cigarette in her bag.

"Mom…it's about Harold," Chandler started sullenly.

"Oh, Chandler look, I know you never really liked him, but he was always very fond of you—"

"Yeah, a little too fond," Chandler muttered as his mother continued.

"I just wish you would let this go!  I mean, it's just casual sex!"

"He used to…" Chandler stopped suddenly, and sat back in his chair.

"What?  Used to what, Chandler?" Nora asked, confused.

"T-touch me," Chandler whispered, his eyes glazed over, and his lip trembling slightly.

"What?  Chandler, what are you talking about?" Nora asked incredulously.

"He…he used to come into my room," Chandler continued softly.

"What?" Nora's voice was raised, but no one in the diner seemed to notice.  Chandler had expected a scene, which was why he chose this place over one of Nora's uptown, posh restaurants, where no one ever seemed to talk above a strained whisper.  He knew that Nora had let him choose because she had been humiliated when he'd passed out during their last outing.

"I've been remembering things lately," Chandler stuttered.

"So these memories just came to you?" Nora's eyes narrowed.

"Well, my therapist puts me into Regression Hypnotherapy, and—"

"Regression Hypnotherapy?  Chandler, I love you dearly, but honey, it's a scam!  I've heard about these doctors, who claim to drudge up old memories through hypnosis, when in reality, they've placed the memories in there, so that the patient keeps going to sessions.  These quacks will tell you whatever you want to hear—and it's always some traumatic childhood event that totally explains 'why you are the way you are'.  It's all nonsense, if you ask me."

"A-Are you saying that you don't believe me?" Chandler asked sadly, his eyes filling with tears.

"Honey, I'm sorry, I just—I don't think Harold could ever—"

"I—I have to go," Chandler stood abruptly, and stumbled out of the restaurant.

"Chandler—" Nora called, but to no avail.  She quickly paid the bill, and ran from the restaurant, tears filling her eyes.

'Not my son', Nora thought, as she hailed a cab, 'he couldn't have done this to my son'.

~*~

"Chandler, what's wrong?  What did your mom say?" Monica fired her questions as she opened the door and ushered a trembling Chandler into the apartment.

"She didn't believe me," Chandler said shakily, "how could she not believe me?"

"Honey, she's probably just in shock," Monica whispered, as she wrapped a thin blanket around Chandler's shoulders.

"She's my mother," Chandler muttered flatly, to no one in particular, "and she thinks that Renee has put this stuff in my head…that it never happened."

"What?" Monica replied, her cheeks flushing in anger.

"And part of me wants her to be right…I really…want her to be right.  But I know—I know she's not."

Monica nodded, and laid her head on Chandler's chest, as he continued to tremble slightly.

Eventually, both Monica and Chandler fell into a light doze, only to be roused moments later when their four friends walked into the apartment.  Monica looked back at them and smiled sadly, the look on her face telling them that now was not a good time.  They nodded silently and moved to leave, when a sudden, frantic pounding on the front door startled them.

Chandler's heart stopped.  A million images floated through his head, the first one being that Nora had been right; that his memories had been planted, and Harold had come over to kick his ass for even suggesting such a disgusting thing.  Then he thought that it was perhaps Nora, coming over to yell at him for taking off on her earlier.

Ross opened the door, and Nora pushed her way into the apartment, her eyes wild, and her hands shaking.  She spotted Chandler; standing in the center of the living room, shock lining his eyes.  Chandler had never seen her looking so…disheveled.

"Chandler, I don't know what happened, I—I saw him, I mean, I went to see him, after you left, and when I looked at him, I just—I knew.  I asked him if it was true, and he was so mad…but I know that he did it…and he tried to stop me from calling the police, but—he is so wrong, and he's so vile and disgusting…I just—he tried to stop me, and I wouldn't let him.  I won't let him hurt my son, I won't," Nora rambled loudly, her eyes searching the room frantically.  She seemed unfocussed, and her trembling was becoming more and more pronounced.

"Mom, where is he?  Did he hurt you?" Chandler asked quickly, as Nora paused to catch her breath.

"I shot him," Nora said flatly, and looked up at Chandler's face, "I pulled out my gun, and shot him in the head."

_The sun just slipped its note below my door _

_And I can't hide beneath my sheets _

_I've read the words before so now I know _

_The time has come again for me _

_And I'm feelin' the same way all over again _

_Feelin' the same way all over again _

_Singin' the same lines all over again _

_No matter how much I pretend _

_Another day that I can't find my head _

_My feet don't look they're my own _

_I'll try and find the floor below to stand _

_And I hope I reach it once again _

_And I'm feelin' the same way all over again _

_Feelin' the same way all over again _

Singin' the same lines all over again 

_No matter how much I pretend _

_So many times I wonder where I've gone _

_And how I found my way back in _

_I'll look around awhile for something lost _

_Maybe I'll find it in the end _

_And I'm feelin' the same way all over again _

_Feelin' the same way all over again _

_Singin' the same lines all over again _

_No matter how much I pretend_

_("Feelin' The Same Way, by Lee Alexander)_


	12. Crumbling Walls

_Regression_

_~Crumbling Walls~_

_He said I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down _

_I'm gonna put it six feet underground _

_He said I'm gonna buy this place and watch it fall _

Stand here beside me baby in the crumbling walls 

Six Hours Later 

Chandler stared at the sterile tile floor, and scuffed his shoe nervously under his chair.  He'd tuned out the sounds that had surrounded him for the past several hours; the ringing telephones, the rolling gurneys and wheelchairs, the screams of agonized patients, the exhausted sighs of the doctors and hospital staff.

They'd brought Nora in, to treat her for shock.  But the wait had been long, and dull, and eventually, Ross, Rachel, Joey and Phoebe had decided to go get something to eat.  Monica stayed behind with Chandler, and was consequently the only one there when Chandler had discovered that Harold was in the hospital too.

As it turned out, Nora had not shot Harold in the head.  She'd been _aiming_ for his head, but hit his shoulder.  No, Harold was very much alive, and was in a very bad mood.

Chandler was at a loss.  He knew that he'd have to talk to Harold sometime, but the idea of being in the same room with him…sickened him.

No.  It scared him.  It scared him to death.

"Here," Monica held out an ugly brown paper cup, filled to the brim with steaming coffee.  Chandler snapped out of his reverie, and took the cup with a grateful smile.

"Any word?" Monica asked softly, as she sat down on a ghastly green plastic chair adjacent to Chandler.

"No," Chandler shook his head, and stared at the steaming black/brown liquid.

"Harold?" Monica asked tentatively.

Chandler shook his head silently.

"How are you holding up?" Monica asked softly, as she rubbed Chandler's back.

"Okay," Chandler shrugged, and took a sip of coffee.  As the ancient bitter coffee hit his tongue, his face contorted, and he swallowed the bitter liquid down reluctantly, before setting the cup down on the adjacent table.

They sat in a comfortable, contemplative silence for several minutes, the soothing silence ending when their friends returned.

"Any word?" Ross asked, as he and the other three walked back into the waiting room.

"She's gonna be okay, but she's sleeping right now," Monica informed them, as she took one of Chandler's hands in her own.

"Are they gonna…arrest her?" Joey asked tentatively.

"Probably," Monica replied, and gave Chandler's hand a squeeze.

"I can't believe she killed him," Rachel muttered.

"She didn't," Chandler said suddenly, and stood up, releasing Monica's hand as he made his way toward the door.

"What?" Ross asked.

"She didn't kill him.  She hit his shoulder, not his head.  He's down the hall," Chandler rambled with a nervous intensity that frightened Monica.

"Chandler—" Phoebe started.

"No, it's okay, I'm okay," Chandler smiled tightly, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Chandler—" Monica stood up.

"I'm gonna go check on my Mom," Chandler said quickly, and rushed out of the room.

Monica sighed heavily, and looked at the floor.  She looked over at her friends, and shook her head.

"I can't help him if he—" Monica sunk into her chair.

"Mon, has he seen Harold yet?" Rachel asked softly.

"No…and I don't think he should," Monica said, as she wiped tears from her cheeks, "he's not ready."

"I think you might be right," Ross replied softly.

Joey stood up and left the room silently.

He walked down toward Nora's room, and poked his head through the open door slowly.  Nora was asleep in a hospital bed, and Chandler was nowhere to be found.  Joey bit his lip nervously, and turned back down the hall.  He had no idea where Harold was, but he needed to make sure Chandler wasn't with him.  Monica's words resonated in Joey's head.

_He's not ready._

Joey walked up and down the hall, but couldn't find his friend.  Panic began to set in, as a hundred different images floated through his head.  Shaking off the horrifying thoughts that were beginning to run through his head, he made his way into a public restroom.

Chandler was huddled on the floor of the restroom, his arms around his knees, and his head on his arms.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Joey asked softly, but Chandler started anyway.

"J-Joey, hey," Chandler whispered, then sniffled and wiped his face with his sleeve.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were flushed.

Joey crouched down, "Are you okay?" he asked again.

"Yeah, yeah," Chandler laughed unconvincingly.

"Why are you in here?" Joey inquired.

"Why are _you_ here," Chandler chuckled, and gestured toward the urinals.

Joey smiled sadly, and stood up, before helping Chandler to his feet.

"Thanks," Chandler smiled.

"Y'know, just because he's here, it doesn't mean you've gotta see him."

Chandler blanched, and leaned up against the wall behind him.

"I just think…maybe you need more time, ya know?" Joey continued.

"Yeah," Chandler whispered, his eyes glazing over as his mind wandered away from the moment.

_The house seemed darker than normal.  The wind whipped through the trees ferociously, creating a low whistle that broke the eerie silence of the night._

_Chandler opened his bedroom door slowly, and poked his head out into the long hallway.  A slice of light shone through the front window, and reflected onto a large, crystal chandelier that hung over the foyer.  Chandler slipped out of his room, and stood against the wooden railing that stood across from his bedroom door, and overlooked the foyer.  He looked up at the chandelier, his eyes following the refracting light, as it danced merrily across the darkened walls.  His eyes fell to the floor, one flight below.  The stark white tiles seemed to be glowing in the dead of night._

_Chandler's hands gripped the railing firmly, his knuckles white and sharp.  Though his eyes were focused on the floor, his mind was on Harold.  _

_Harold's weekly visits had increased, and he was now visiting Chandler almost nightly.  _

_Sleep was no longer an escape from the nightmare that Chandler was living.  Harold had invaded his dreams; the pain of the night taking over his psyche more than ever._

_The young boy stood stoically at the top of the stairs, his eyes brimmed with tears, his mind trying to find answers to questions he was too young to ask._

_The one question that consumed him, more than all others, was the one that disturbed him most._

_Why?_

_What had he done wrong?  Why couldn't he have been a better son?  What could he do to make it better?_

_As the storm brewed outside, the disturbed child stepped up onto the railing, and swung one skinny leg over the banister.  _

_It was the only way out; it was the only way to escape the pain.  He couldn't fix things now.  He was bad, he was corrupt, and he was horrible.  His mother hated him, Harold hated him, his father hated him…_

_It was the only way out._

_He swung the other leg over the railing, and stood there, facing his bedroom door.  He peered over his right shoulder, and looked down at the floor again._

_No one would miss him._

_The white tile gleamed invitingly, the wind whistled sharply._

No one would care.

_His right hand released the railing, and he teetered backward slightly, and the bottom corner of his bed came into view._

_Chandler's been a bad boy._

_Fat, salty tears slid down the boy's face unchecked.  He was doing them all a favor, really._

_It was all his fault._

_His left hand released the railing, and he remembered hearing the chandelier crystals tinkle lightly, and then…_

_Nothing._

"Chandler?"

Chandler snapped out of his reverie, and looked over at Joey.

"Are you okay?"

"I was thinking about…something that came to me earlier tonight, when I found out Harold was here."

"A memory?" Joey asked.

Chandler nodded silently, and looked up at the ceiling, sniffling loudly.

"What, uh, what was it about?" Joey asked tentatively.

"The night I tried to kill myself," Chandler said flatly.

"What?"

"I jumped, from our second floor stairway to the foyer.  A table broke my fall, but I ended up breaking my arm, and a couple of ribs.  My mom made me go to therapy, but I closed up.  I guess that was when…" Chandler stopped suddenly, and walked toward the restroom door.

"When what?  Chandler?" Joey followed Chandler out of the restroom, and into the hallway.

"Joey," Chandler spun around suddenly, his eyes shining wildly, "Don't tell anyone what I told you, especially not Monica.  Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Joey croaked quickly.

"Okay," Chandler repeated, and stalked down the hallway that led to his mother's room.

Joey watched Chandler's retreating figure, his mind trying to process what his best friend had just told him.  He felt a shiver go up his spine, and he shook his head slowly.

Joey walked into the waiting room stiffly, his face piqued, and his eyes glazed over.

"Joey, what's wrong?" Monica asked quietly.

"I—I promised I wouldn't tell," Joey said robotically, then jolted suddenly, and looked down at Monica, "Don't leave him alone, Monica.  Never leave him by himself."

"What?  Joey—"

"Just…" Joey looked at the floor, and sniffled loudly, "he's remembering…and it's messing with his head, I think.  We need to get him away from…_him_."

Chandler sat on the green vinyl chair, staring at his mother's sleeping form, trying to figure out what was happening inside his own head.  

The memories were coming at him in a jumbled rush; it was as though someone had opened the floodgates in his mind.  

The images were more complete now.  No longer flashes of images, or disjointed voices, the memories were complete, and were more disturbing than he was prepared for.  His head ached constantly, as his mind's defenses struggled to stave off hurtful thoughts unsuccessfully.

Nora stirred, and Chandler's eyes focused on her once more.

"Ch-Chandler? Where am I?" Nora whispered weakly.

Chandler swallowed down a large lump in his throat; he was unaccustomed to seeing his mother looking so frail and helpless.  He was in no condition to take on the caretaker role.

"You're in the hospital, Mom.  Y-you went into shock at Monica's."

"Harold," Nora remembered suddenly.

"H-he's here.  You hit his shoulder."

"No, I…oh," Nora mumbled.

"Chandler, I am so sorry.  I had no idea—"

"Mrs. Bing?" Nora was interrupted by a uniformed police officer.

"Yes," Nora replied calmly, and took her son's hand.

"I'm Officer Gaines.  I need to speak with you about the incident."

"Yes," Nora repeated, "This is my son Chandler."

The officer nodded at Chandler, then looked back at Nora. 

"He should be here," Nora continued, "This involves him."

But Chandler didn't want to be there.  He didn't want to relive this.  He wanted to run away, he wanted to escape.

_See me crumble and fall on my face _

_And I know the mistakes that I've made _

"Alright, Mrs. Bing, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Nora nodded, and relayed the events of the past afternoon to the officer in full detail.  The officer nodded and took notes, and occasionally looked over at Chandler, who was staring at the wall in front of him.

"Mrs. Bing, we've already spoken with your ex-husband.  He is willing to drop all charges against you, on one condition."

Nora was shocked.  She looked at Chandler, trying to gauge his reaction.  He looked at her blankly, and she looked back up at the officer.

"He wants you and your son to promise not to try and pursue charges against him for child abuse and molestation.  He claims it never happened, and he wants you to take his word for it."

_See it all disappear without a trace_

*

_Oh I'm gonna buy this place and start a fire _

_Stand here until I fill all your heart's desires _

_Because I'm gonna buy this place see it burn _

_And do back the things it did to you in return _

_He said I'm gonna buy a gun a start a war _

_If you can tell me something worth fighting for _

_Oh and I'm gonna buy this place, that's what i said _

_Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head _

_Honey, all the movements you're starting to make _

_See me crumble and fall on my face _

_And I know the mistakes that I've made _

_See it all disappear without a trace _

_And they call as they beckon you on _

_They said start, as you need to go on _

_Start, as you need to go on _

_He said I'm gonna place and see it go _

_Stand here beside my baby, watch the orange glow _

_Some'll laugh and some just sit and cry _

_But you just sit down there and you wonder why _

_So I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war _

_If you can tell me something worth fighting for _

_And I'm gonna buy this place, that's what I said _

_Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head _

_Ah to the head _

_Honey, all the movements you're starting to make _

_See me crumble and fall on my face _

_And I know the mistakes that I've made _

_See it all disappear without a trace _

_And they call as they beckon you on _

_They say start, as you need to go on _

_As you need to go on _

_As you need to go on _

_So meet me by the bridge _

_Oh meet me by the lane _

_When am I gonna see that pretty face again _

_Meet me on the road _

_Meet me where I said _

_Blame it all upon a rush of blood to the head _

_(A Rush of Blood to the Head, by Coldplay)_


	13. Choose to Fight

_AN: Can I just say, that I love it when people tell me stories in their reviews!  It cracks me up!!  (The gummy worm story killed me!) Anyway, the song I am using is by Creed, who I don't really like that much, because I think they are overrated Pearl Jam wannabe's, lol.  But this song fits this fic, so…there ya go.  (I had to put in this disclaimer, because if my brother knew I was using a Creed song, he'd kick my ass!)_

_Um, I used to own Friends, but then I sold them on eBay to Warner Bros., NBC, and Bright, Kaufman Crane for twenty bucks.  Man, I am SO bad at investing…_

_Regression_

_~Choose to Fight~_

_I lie awake on a long, dark night_

_I can't seem to tame my mind_

_Slings and arrows are killing me inside_

_Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine_

"Alright, Mrs. Bing, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Nora nodded, and relayed the events of the past afternoon to the officer in full detail.  The officer nodded and took notes, and occasionally looked over at Chandler, who was staring at the wall in front of him.

"Mrs. Bing, we've already spoken with your ex-husband.  He is willing to drop all charges against you, on one condition."

Nora was shocked.  She looked at Chandler, trying to gauge his reaction.  He looked at her blankly, and she looked back up at the officer.

"He wants you and your son to promise not to try and pursue charges against him for child abuse and molestation.  He claims it never happened, and he wants you to take his word for it."

"I—I can't do that—I won't do that to my son," Nora said defiantly.

"Mom, you could go to jail," Chandler argued quietly.

"I don't care," Nora yelled, "That bastard needs to pay!"

"Mom—"

"I'm going to let you two talk," Officer Gaines said, and stepped out into the hallway.

Chandler watched the officer leave, then turned back to his mother.

"You _have_ to take this, Mom," he said slowly.

"No, I don't.  He needs to be punished, and I don't care what happens to me."

"Well I do.  You can't do this.  I can deal with Harold—"

"Chandler, look at yourself," Nora sat up straight, and took one of his hands, "You're shaking right now!  You need to get through this, and you need closure, and letting that bastard off the hook is _not_ going to help you."

Chandler stared at his trembling hands for a moment, and swallowed hard.

"But it will help you," he said quietly.

"Oh, honey, I appreciate it, I do.  But this is my decision, and I won't let him do this to you.  He will just have to face this…and so will I."

_The darkness was stifling.  It surrounded him, consumed him, and seemed to be drawing him deeper into the unknown abyss._

_He stretched out an arm, tentatively reaching toward the black shadows._

_The air was cold, and damp, and it sent shivers down his spine.  He retracted his arm quickly, and felt his body begin to tremble._

_He closed his eyes, and fought back the cold._

_Then, like a beacon in the night, he heard a voice, soft and gentle, calling him, reaching for him._

_He opened his eyes slowly, and saw a sliver of light, cutting through the inky blackness._

_He reached out once more, grasping at the wispy tendril of light that beckoned him._

_He was pulled into consciousness, still unaware of what had happened, unsure where he was, and oblivious to the hell he had put his mother through._

_"Chandler?  Honey, can you hear me?"_

_His mother's voice was gentle, and softer than he'd ever heard from her._

_"Mom?  Where am I?"_

_"You're in the hospital.  You—you fell, I think…though I am still not sure how.  What were you doing?"_

_Chandler swallowed hard, and turned away from his mother._

"Chandler.  Look at me."

_He turned his head slowly; his eyes glistening with unshed tears._

_"What were you doing on the banister?"_

_"I—I'm sorry," was his only reply._

_"Chandler—"_

_"How is he?" Harold's voice filled the room, and Chandler felt his entire body tense.  Suddenly, he couldn't breathe—the memories seized him, stifled him, and refused to let go._

_"He has some broken ribs, and a fractured arm…and he seems upset about something," Nora shook her head._

_"Honey, why don't you go get him something to eat?  Let me talk to him for a minute."_

_"Okay.  Chandler, dear, I'll be right back," Nora placed her hand on Chandler's shoulder as she stood up to leave._

_"No, Mom, please don't go," Chandler tried to scream, but it came out in a raspy whisper instead._

_"I'm just going down the hall.  I'll be right back," Nora laughed, and turned to leave._

_"Mom!  Mom, please…" Chandler cries became more desperate, as his mother walked away._

_"Now son, don't worry, your mom will be back," Harold smiled sweetly, and sat down in the chair that Nora had vacated moments earlier._

_"I'm not your son," Chandler hiccupped angrily between sobs._

_"Chandler, you are being a very bad boy," Harold's smile turned down, as he extended his arm, and brushed sweat-soaked hair out of Chandler's pallid face. _

_Chandler flinched, and tried to move away, but the sudden jerking sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, and he cried out in pain._

_Suddenly, Chandler felt a heavy hand come down onto his mouth, muffling his cries.  He struggled to move out from under his grip, but Harold stood, and shoved his face in Chandler's._

_"You've already disappointed your mother so much, Chandler," Harold whispered menacingly, "You don't want to hurt her any more do you?  She thinks she's a bad mother.  And that's all your fault."_

_Chandler tried to shake his head, but Harold's grip had no give.  Harold's eyes bore into Chandler's and the boy had no choice but to absorb all that the man told him._

_"You don't want to disappoint her again, do you?" _

_Harold released Chandler suddenly, and sat back down on the chair.  He watched, as the little boy fought back tears.  _

_The game was over.  Harold had won._

Chandler jerked awake, and saw that his mother had drifted off to sleep as well.  He sighed, and stood up slowly, before wandering out of the room, and down the hospital corridor.

The hallway was much quieter than it had been earlier, and Chandler felt a strange uneasiness settle on him, as he made his way down the hallway.  He inadvertently walked past the waiting room, and turned down another corridor.  As his mind pulled him out of his post-nightmare haze, he began to realize that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and he stopped to look around.

His gaze swept past the patient room that was in front of him.

And he saw him.

Harold was asleep in a bed near the door.  Monitors and machines beeped rhythmically, providing the only source of sound at that moment.

Chandler felt his knees weaken, and he fell back against the Plexiglas window that was behind him.  He struggled to breathe, but found that it was becoming increasingly difficult.  

And just like that, the entire world collapsed around him.

Monica opened her eyes slowly, and smiled, when she saw that Joey was leaned on her shoulder, mouth agape, and was snoring audibly.

The other three had left a few hours ago, when Monica had reported that Chandler was asleep in Nora's room.  Joey, however, was adamant about staying, a move that would have warmed Monica, had his insistence to stay not been so incredibly desperate.  

Monica moved out from under Joey slowly, careful not to disturb him.  She stood up, and stretched slowly.  She moved to walk out into the hallway, and looked up to see Chandler wander past the room.  He was walking slowly, and stiffly; as though he were sleep walking.  Curious, Monica followed him as he wandered down the hallway, and then turned suddenly.

She saw him stop, as though he had realized suddenly that he had overshot his destination.  She smiled, and walked toward him, her smile fading suddenly when she saw him collapse against the window behind him.

"Chandler?"

He was gasping for air, and tears were rolling down his face unchecked.  Monica knelt next to him, her heart racing.  She looked around, her gaze following Chandler's.

Inside the room across the hall, was an older man, asleep in his bed.  Monica's brow furrowed in confusion, until it came to her suddenly.

Harold.

Her attention flew back to Chandler, as his body went completely limp.

Monica scrambled to her feet, and ran down the hallway.

_The darkness that had once been cold and disturbing was now his only source of comfort, his only sanctuary._

_He pulled it around him, and warmed to it slowly._

_Inside this safe haven, he was free from his guilt, free from his pain, and most of all, he was free from him._

_He refused to speak _his_ name.  Instead, he pulled himself deeper into the darkness, until it consumed him completely._

_Nora was at a loss.  Chandler had not spoken since his release from the hospital.  She struggled to pinpoint the exact moment when Chandler had stopped talking, and had decided that it must have been the day after his accident.  He'd barely spoken when he'd woken up, and when she'd returned to his room with food, he'd refused it silently, and turned away.  _

_That was three weeks ago.  Chandler had since sat silently in his room, refusing to speak, eat, or even sleep.  Nora was at her wit's end.  She had scheduled an appointment with a child psychologist, in an attempt to get her son to open up about what was wrong._

_What had happened that had disturbed him so badly?_

"Chandler?  Chandler, wake up, please."

Chandler struggled to stay inside the darkness that had helped him escape so often before, but his will was weak, and he found himself being pulled into consciousness.

"Monica?"

"Hey," Monica smiled broadly, and gave his hand a squeeze, "You gave us quite a scare there, sweetie."

"I'm sorry," Chandler whispered.

"No, don't be!" Monica shook her head vehemently, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Chandler sat up slowly, and pasted on a forced smile.

"Chandler, let me help," Monica said sadly.

Chandler looked down at his hand, intertwined tightly with Monica's.

"You don't want to see what I see," Chandler muttered.

"I want to do whatever it takes to help you get through this," Monica whispered.

Chandler looked up at Monica, and saw that they were filled with concern.  He saw that her jaw was set tightly, the way it did when she was highly determined.  He smiled, and pulled her toward him.

"Get me out of here," he whispered slowly, and kissed her on the lips.

Monica smiled and nodded, before kissing him again.

"The doctor wanted you to stay the night, but he had no real reason to hold you," Monica explained, as she and Chandler keyed into her apartment hours later.

"I just wanted to go home," Chandler said softly.

"Oh, we can go to your place, I just—" Monica realized that she had given the taxi driver her address, without even asking Chandler where he wanted to go.

"No," Chandler stepped toward Monica, and took her hands in his, "This is where I want to be," he smiled, "This has always been home to me."

Monica grinned, and led Chandler to the sofa.  They sat down, and held each other in silence for several moments, Monica with her back to Chandler, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"I saw him," Chandler said suddenly, and Monica tilted her head up to look at his face, "I saw him, and it freaked me out."

"I know," Monica whispered, "I'm sorry."

"He told the police he wouldn't press charges if my Mom retracted her accusations," Chandler said flatly.

"What?" Monica pulled away from Chandler, and turned to face him completely, "What did your mom say?"

"She refused, but—but I think she should do it.  She's gonna get jail time for this, and—"

"Chandler, he needs to pay for this.  And your mom knows that."

"I just—I don't want her to pay for my—"

"She is going to pay for her own actions," Monica said firmly, "This is not your fault."

Chandler nodded numbly, and looked down at the sofa.

"I wish I'd never gone to see Renee.  I don't want to know this anymore."

"I know," Monica wrapped her arms around Chandler, and pulled him toward her, "I know."

_No I can't accept the life that's mine_

_Simple living is my desperate cry_

_Been trading love with indifference _

_Yeah it suits me just fine_

_I try to hold on but I'm calloused to the bone_

_Maybe that's why I feel alone_

_Maybe that's why I feel so alone_

_Me…I'm rusted and weathered_

_Barely holding together_

_I'm covered with skin that peels and _

_It just won't heal_

_The sun shines and I can't avoid the light_

_I think I'm holding on to life too tight_

_Ashes to ashes and dust to dust_

_Sometimes I feel like giving up_

_Sometimes I feel like giving up_

_Me…I'm rusted and weathered_

_Barely holding together_

_I'm covered with skin that peels _

_And it just won't heal_

_The day reminds me of you_

_The night hides your truth_

_The earth is a voice_

_Speaking to you_

_Take all this pride_

_And leave it behind_

_Because one day it ends_

_One day we die_

_Believe what you will_

_That is your right_

_But I choose to win_

_So I choose to fight_

_To fight _

_"Weathered" Written by Tremonti/Stapp (Creed)_


	14. The Safest Place

_AN: Apologies for the long delays on my fics.  I've been really ill, and am still not well, so hopefully this chapter will make sense.  I will try to work on my other ones too, but no promises…_

_Regression_

_~The Safest Place~_

_Last night I thought that I would die_

I had nightmares, I was so scared 

_Thank God that you were by my side_

_To hold me when I cried_

_I wanna be strong_

_But I don't wanna be alone tonight_

_He was curled up tightly, oblivious to all that surrounded him.  He allowed the darkness inside of him, and he found artificial peace within it._

_Inside the darkness, no one could touch him, no one could hurt him._

_But more than that; in the darkness, he couldn't let anyone down._

_As much as he'd tried to prevent it, Chandler had absorbed Harold's words, and even here, they echoed inside of him, haunting him._

_His mind began to work, trying desperately to find ways to fight back._

_Nora sat in the chair next to her son, as he stared blankly at the child psychologist before them._

_Doctor Andrew Costa was a renowned Psychologist in his field, and was recommended to Nora by a friend.  With his broad smile and sparkling blue-green eyes, Andrew immediately put Nora at ease._

_Chandler was another story._

_The boy sat quietly in his chair, barely acknowledging Andrew and Nora's presence._

_He had yet to speak, and seemed lost inside his own head._

_The case fascinated Andrew.  He was sure he could dig his way into the boy's subconscious._

_He had no idea how far he'd have to dig._

A door slammed in the apartment below, and Chandler jerked awake.  He sighed, and pulled Monica closer to him.  

They had fallen asleep on the sofa, but with Monica in his arms, Chandler had slept soundly for more than five hours.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than three hours.

He sighed again, and watched in content silence as the light of day swept away the remnants of the night.

Monica stirred, and Chandler looked down as her eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," he whispered softly.

"Hey," she smiled, and snuggled closer to him.

Chandler kissed her hair, "Sleep well?" he asked.

"Mmmm-hmm," Monica nodded into Chandler's chest.  She lifted her head, and looked up at him, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Chandler smiled, and sat up as Monica pulled away from him.

"You must have been exhausted," Monica said somberly.

"I guess," Chandler muttered, and looked at his hands.

"Well, you brought it on yourself," Monica said harshly, and stood up.

Chandler felt his heart stop.  He looked up at Monica, confusion lining his eyes.

"What?  Monica—"

"You've always been a disappointment Chandler.  What makes you think anything would ever change?"

Chandler felt dizzy and nauseous.  He tried to stand, but his legs felt like jelly.

"Your mother is going to jail, and it's all your fault!  She was right, it would have been better if you'd never been born!" Monica said coldly, and stormed into her bedroom.

"No, Monica!"

"Chandler, what's wrong?"

Chandler's eyes shot open.  He looked around, and saw that he was still on Monica's sofa, with Monica in his arms, and that it was still dark outside.  He glanced at Monica, and saw that she looked concerned.

"Chandler, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Chandler said, and pulled away from Monica.  He tossed the blanket off of him, and stood up slowly.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"Huh?  Oh, n-nothing," Chandler shook his head, and tried desperately to control his trembling.

"Chandler, please talk to me.  Let me help."

"I—it just seemed so real…" Chandler's voice drifted off, and he stared out the window into the night sky.

"What did?" Monica stood up, and approached Chandler.

Chandler sighed, seemingly oblivious to Monica's inquiry.  

"I hate the darkness," he muttered.

"What?" Monica reached out and touched Chandler's arm gingerly.

Chandler started, and looked down at Monica, the fog in his eyes clearing slightly.

"The night," he whispered, as he looked back out the window, "I don't like the night."

"I'm sorry you had a bad dream," Monica said softly.

Chandler turned to look at Monica again, and took her hands in his.

"Let's go back to bed," he smiled, "and make the night go away."

Monica nodded, and led Chandler into her bedroom.  They climbed into bed, and wrapped their arms around each other tightly.

"I want to tell you something," Chandler said, after a short moment of silence.

"You can tell me anything," Monica replied, and snuggled closer to Chandler.

"I told Joey something earlier, and I feel like…like I should tell you."

"Okay," Monica said, her body tensing slightly.

"I just…I just don't want you to freak out, okay?" Chandler pulled away from Monica, and looked down at her.

"Chandler, I'm here for you, you know that."

"I…I tried to kill myself, several years ago, and…when I woke up, Harold told me that I had disappointed my mother, and that it was all my fault.  And I believed him, and…I guess I needed to tell you, because I feel like I—I feel like I'm hurting you, and my Mom, and our friends, and—"

"Chandler, wait.  Okay, first of all, I am really happy that you trusted me enough to tell me something like that…but I don't want you to worry about me, or the others.  You aren't doing anything wrong.  Don't let him get to you like this, Chandler.  He's not worth any of it."

"I dreamt that…that you said…very different things.  I dreamt that I'd let you down, the way I let my Mom down."

"You haven't let anyone down.  I'm so sorry that you had such a horrible dream.  But I can assure you that it will not come to pass—ever."

Chandler smiled slightly, and pulled Monica toward him, holding her tightly in his arms.

"I'm only safe when I'm with you," he muttered sadly.

_"I don't understand.  It's been two months, and he still won't speak!  Has he made any progress at all?" Nora was exasperated._

_"Mrs. Bing, I know that this is frustrating, but I do think we are making progress.  Chandler no longer just sits in his chair for an hour.  He draws, and writes a little.  His writings are quite dark, and his drawings are abstract at best.  But what it tells me is that your son is very disturbed.  He feels alone, and he seems to be holding onto some deep-seeded guilt.  Can you think of anything that may have contributed to this?"_

_"I don't…I just…do you think he jumped from the banister?  Do you think something happened before his accident?"_

_"Yes, I do.  I think your son tried to kill himself, Mrs. Bing, and I think it's vitally important that we find out why."_

_He lay in his bed, his mind hazy and heavy.  The darkness no longer seemed as safe; it now seemed daunting and cold.  But he hovered there, not sure where to go.  _

_If he emerged, what would be waiting for him on the other side?_

_He sighed, and sat up to stare up at the night sky._

_He shivered, alone in his room, alone in his guilt, alone in his battle._

_He longed for the coming of the light._

_~*~_

_Thank God that you were by my side…_

_On a night...._

_On a night..._

_Daytime I'm fine_

_Everything is back normal_

_Last night I thought that I would die_

_I had nightmares, I was so scared_

_Thank God that you were by my side_

_To hold me when I cried_

_I wanna be strong_

_But I don't wanna be alone tonight_

_I wanna believe that I can save the world_

_And make it right_

_But I believe that you've got a hero's face_

_Right here in your arms is safest place_

_The safest place_

_It feels so real_

_You showed I could trust you_

_With emotions I had locked away_

_It was your touch, your words_

_They hear deepest part of me_

_That only you can see_

_I wanna be strong_

_But I don't wanna be alone tonight_

_I wanna believe that I can save the world_

_And make it right_

But I believe that you've got a hero's face 

_Right here in your arms is safest place_

_As long as I'm with you_

_As long as I can feel you_

_That's all I need to keep me going_

_On and on and on and on...._

_I wanna believe that I can save the world_

_And make it right_

_But I believe that you've got a hero's face_

_Right here in your arms is safest place_

_Right here in your arms is safest place...._

_The safest place..._

_The safest place..._

_"The Safest Place" (Desmond Child, Mark Hudson, Victoria Shaw, Eric Bazilian)_


	15. Turnaround

_Regression_

_~Turnaround~_

_Take a step outside yourself_

_And turn around_

_Take a look at who you are_

_It's pretty scary_

_So silly_

_Revolting_

_You're not much_

_You can't do anything_

Charles looked down at the slip of paper in his hand again, then looked up at the green door that stood before him.  He hesitated slightly, still trying to center himself.

To say that he had been shocked by his son's phone call would have been an understatement; after all, he hadn't spoken to Chandler in several years.  Charles was under the distinct impression that Chandler hated him, and always would.

Because of this, Chandler's call did not warm Charles' heart—it scared him.  For Chandler to just…call…for him to quietly ask his father to come out to New York…it sent chills down Charles' spine.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Charles shook his head, and knocked lightly on the door to apartment 20.

Monica stood up, when she heard the knock at the door.  She glanced at Chandler, who had drifted off to sleep on the sofa, as she made her way to the door.  She opened the door slowly, her head cocking to one side, as she looked at the man that stood on the other side.

The man was tall, slender, and well built.  He was older, perhaps in his late fifties.  He had graying dark brown hair, and striking blue eyes.

Familiar eyes.

After a moment's contemplation, it clicked.

Chandler's father.

"Hi, um," the man started, looking lost and a bit confused, "I'm looking for Chandler Bing?"

"You must be Chandler's father," Monica smiled warmly, and gestured at him to enter the apartment.

"Yes," Charles smiled, and walked fully through the door.

"I'm Monica Geller, Chandler's girlfriend."

Charles looked at the stunning woman standing before him, and smiled inwardly—his son had obviously done well for himself.

"Pleased to meet you, Monica," Charles said politely.

Monica nodded, and walked around the living room sofa, and Charles followed, assuming that they were going to settle in the living room.

He walked around the sofa, and saw that his son was fast asleep, though he looked anything but peaceful.  He was sweating, and his brow was furrowed into a painful scowl.

Monica crouched down next to him, and shook him lightly.

"Chandler, honey, wake up," she whispered softly.

At first, there was no response, but as Monica reached her arm out again, Chandler's eyes jerked open, and he jolted upright.

Charles jumped back slightly, but noted that Monica seemed unfazed by the violent reaction.  He watched, as Monica rubbed soothing circles on his back, and whispered softly.  

After a moment, Chandler seemed to calm down, and he took several deep breaths.  Monica whispered something to him, and he looked up, and over at his father.

Charles didn't know what to expect—he had no idea what was going on, much less how Chandler felt about him at the moment.  He stood stoically, as Chandler took a moment to register his presence.  He was subsequently shocked, when Chandler stood up, and pulled Charles into a tight embrace.

"Chandler, son—uh, how—how are you?" Charles said into Chandler's shoulder.

"Dad," Chandler croaked, but said nothing more.

Charles wasn't sure what to do; so he simply stood there, and held his son.

_"Honestly Charles, I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't important," Nora said into the telephone receiver, "But I don't know what to do!  Chandler is wasting away, and he won't talk to me."_

_"And you think he'll talk to me?  He's still stinging over the divorce, Nora."_

_"He won't talk to anyone, Charles, he never speaks.  Something happened to him, and I really don't think it was the divorce."_

_"Do you want me to come out there?" Charles asked hesitantly._

_"Actually, I was thinking that we could come out there.  I was thinking that it might be good for Chandler to get away for a while."_

_"Okay, yeah, it'll be good to see you guys," Charles replied._

_"Alright.  It'll be me, Chandler and Harold.  We'll be out on Friday."_

"So," Charles said, as Chandler released his hold on him, "What's going on, son?"

"I think you should sit down," Chandler said grimly, and reached for Monica, who immediately moved to his side, and grasped his hand tightly.

"Is this good-sitting down news, or bad-sitting down news?" Charles asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Dad…do you remember Harold, that producer-guy Mom married after your divorce went through?" Chandler sat on the coffee table across from Charles, but kept his eyes focused on the couch cushions next to Charles.

"Yeah, that idiot that came with you guys when you came out to Vegas, right?" Charles shrugged, his only memory of the man being that he had been excessively drunk the majority of the time.

"Y-yeah," Chandler shuddered at the memory of the trip, and closed his eyes momentarily.  As soon as he was centered, he continued.

"Look, Dad, Mom is in some trouble, and it has to do with me.  And w-with Harold."

"What?  What's going on?  Where's Nora?"

"She's…in the hospital until tomorrow…but she is gonna be arrested."

"Chandler, what the hell is going on?" Charles wondered if he was going to be forced to pay Nora's bail.  He momentarily wondered if Nora had somehow coaxed Chandler into getting him here.  The thought fluttered away when he saw Chandler's face contort into a pained expression.

"Mom shot Harold," Chandler said softly, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

"What?  Why?"

"Dad," Chandler looked up at Charles, and the latter noticed that his son looked…old.  He looked worn, and he looked like he'd lost all hope.  Charles sat forward, and looked into his son's eyes closely.

"Harold…abused me, when I was young.  I just…I just recently remembered, and I told Mom, and she freaked out.  I didn't mean for this to happen, I—" Chandler broke down, and Monica pulled him into her arms.  She looked at Charles, and though he looked shell-shocked, she continued what Chandler could not.

"Harold molested him, and he blocked it out.  He's dealing with it, but…he needs help," Monica whispered.

"That was what was going on, when you came to Vegas," Charles said flatly, as the memories came back to him, "that's why you weren't talking, that's why you jumped from the banister.  It wasn't school kids, it was Harold?" Charles felt his own tears well up, as Chandler pulled away from Monica and looked at his father.

"I'm sorry," Chandler stuttered, as Charles pulled Chandler to his chest.

"No, son, I'm sorry," Charles whispered.

_Chandler sat on his father's front porch, his hand idly playing with a loose string on his sweatshirt.  He'd forgotten how cold the desert could get once the sun disappeared._

_But then, he was always cold these days._

_He felt himself descending into his protective cocoon, his mind closing off the sounds of the desert night._

_It was strange, being in a new environment, but with the same fears coursing through him._

_His father had been pleasant, but guarded, and was clearly at a loss over what to do with a son that refused to speak._

In his own mind, Chandler was certain that he had disappointed his father as well.

_The screen door swung open with an ominous creak, and Chandler was suddenly accosted with a horrible stench of whisky._

_"Chandler, it's a little cold out here," Harold's voice was saccharine-sweet, and it sent shivers up Chandler's spine.  He didn't move—he was sure that if he sat still enough, Harold would just disappear._

_Harold placed a heavy hand on Chandler's shoulder._

_"You sure have caused a lot of trouble," Harold's voice kept it's jovial tone, despite the heavy accusation._

_Chandler closed his eyes, and let his mind shut down.  He barely registered Harold's voice, when he called into the house to inform Nora that he was taking Chandler for a walk to clear his head._

_He dug deeper into the safety of the darkness, as Harold guided him out into the desert night._

_He was barely conscious, when Harold dragged him back to the house an hour later._

_He never let them know that two of his fragile ribs had been re-fractured.  That his mind refused to acknowledge what was real.  That he was on the brink of losing control completely._

"Dad," Chandler said quietly, after several minutes of crying and apologies had transpired, "why are you dressed like that?"

"What?" Charles asked, flustered by the odd aside.

"I thought you—"

"Oh, right, the drag," Charles chuckled, and relieved some of the tension that had built up in the room, "It's easier to pack men's clothing," he laughed.

In truth, Charles wanted to get back into his son's good graces, and hoped that by appearing 'normal', Chandler would feel more comfortable.  Ironically, it took Chandler several hours to even notice.

"Oh," Chandler smiled slightly, and looked up at his father, "How long can you stay?"

Charles looked down at his son, and absorbed all of the pain, frustration, guilt and shame that lined his eyes—eyes that mirrored his own.  The blueness—it was simply startling.  He cupped Chandler's face in both of his well-manicured hands, and smiled warmly.

"As long as you need me," he whispered truthfully.

_Chandler wrapped his blanket around him tightly, and tried desperately to ignore the throbbing in his side.  He stifled back tears, and froze, when he heard his bedroom door open slowly._

_"Chandler, what's going on son?" Chandler had never been so happy to hear his father's voice._

_Chandler sat up, and looked at his father.  Charles still had traces of makeup on his eyes, but was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt.  Chandler looked down at his blanket, and frowned.  He couldn't find his voice, even if he wanted to.  It was buried deep within him, with everything else._

_"You can talk to me," Charles said softly, "I know you don't agree with what I do, but that doesn't mean I stopped being your Dad," Charles reached out and placed his hand on Chandler's shoulder, but pulled away when his son flinched at the contact.  _

_Charles saw the action as a rejection, and it hurt him deeply.  He sighed deeply, and stood up, leaving the room without another word._

_For Chandler, the sudden contact brought back memories that he was working to repress.  In that moment he hadn't seen his father, he'd seen Harold, and it frightened him to his core._

_By the time Chandler realized what had happened, Charles was gone, and Chandler was once again, all alone._

_He wrapped himself inside his cocoon, and vowed never to emerge._

_Take a step outside yourself_

_And turn around_

_Take a look at who you are_

_It's pretty scary_

_So silly_

_Revolting_

_You're not much_

_You can't do anything_

_Take a step outside the city_

_And turn around_

_Take a look at what you are_

_It is revolting_

_You're really nowhere_

_So wasteful_

_So foolish_

_Poppycock_

_Who said don't look back?_

_Don't believe 'em_

_Go for that crazy sounding restaurant_

_'Cos they're gonna try and get behind you_

_Don't you let them do it_

_You know what I'm talking about?_

_You hear me talking?_

_You hear me talking?_

_It's pretty scary it's so revolting_

_Turn around and around_

_Take a look at where you are_

_It's pretty scary_

_(Turnaround, by Nirvana)_


	16. Clocks

_Regression_

_~Clocks~_

_Confusion that never stops_

_The closing walls and ticking clocks_

_Gonna come back and take you home_

_I could not stop, that you now know_

_To say that the tension around the breakfast table was palpable would be an enormous understatement._

_The tension was painful to everyone, but for varying reasons._

_Nora and Harold were still stinging over an argument they'd had the night before; Harold was more hung over than he was bitter, but the resentment still resonated off of him._

_Charles was trying desperately to figure out how to get through to his son.  But Chandler's blatant rejection of him the night before hurt Charles terribly.  He knew that his son had taken the divorce badly, but he was sure that in time, Chandler would come around.  He looked over at his son, and noted that Chandler had yet to touch his food.  Charles decided to take a chance, and break the thick silence._

_"Chandler, aren't you hungry?"_

_The darkness cradled him it it's cool, vacant arms.  It soothed him, protected him, and absorbed his pain._

_But it was also empty, and silent, and it made him ache for something more._

_The boy never really knew love; he'd never truly felt loved, not even by his parents.  What he needed he could not name, because for him, it just never was._

_Perhaps he wasn't worthy._

_Perhaps he was damned._

_His father's voice floated through the room, and pulled him out of his head._

_He turned his eyes upward, and saw that everyone was looking at him._

_They all knew._

_It was his fault._

_He would be punished._

_His mind was in a whirl, and he felt a storm brewing, deep within his tired soul._

_And there, he found his voice._

_And he screamed._

_The seconds seemed to drag, and Charles' question hung in the air ominously._

_Finally, Chandler looked up at him, and for a moment, time stopped completely._

_Charles had to force himself to hold his gaze; Chandler's eyes were flat, and vacant; they were eyes that belonged in an older, jaded man._

_They did not belong in a child._

_Certainly not his son._

_Chandler broke the gaze first, and Charles watched with morbid curiosity, as Chandler scanned the table.  Harold and Nora had stopped eating, and were now focused on Chandler as well._

_It was a moment that would haunt Charles for the rest of his life.  He'd never seen anything more terrifying, than what he saw in that moment, as his son's eyes glazed, his head tilted back, and he let go the most horrific, blood-curdling scream Charles had ever heard._

The rain splashed down in continuous sheets, as the wild wind rattled the windows of Monica's apartment.  Charles had left an hour ago, intent on speaking with Nora down at the hospital.  Chandler and Monica were sat on the sofa, curled in a comfortable silence.

The wind howled, and the windows rattled harder, and Monica felt Chandler's grip on her tighten.  She pivoted her head slightly, and shot Chandler a concerned glance.

"What?" Chandler looked down at Monica.

"Nothing," Monica smiled, and settled back down against Chandler's chest.

Chandler sighed contently, and laid his head back on the sofa cushion.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

"I know, sweetie, I love you too," Monica replied.

"I wouldn't have gotten through this without you," Chandler whispered.

"I'm here for you, honey, and I'll always be here for you."

"Promise?" Chandler's voice was thin, and frail.

Monica sat up, and turned to face Chandler fully.  

"I promise," she said, never taking her eyes from his.

Chandler nodded, and looked down at his hands, then back up at Monica.  His eyes were glistening with impending tears, but Monica could see a brightness in his baby blues that had been absent for months.  She leaned forward, and kissed him tenderly on the lips, sighing as she felt his renegade tears dampen her cheeks and his.

Chandler felt something within him release into the kiss.  All of his emotions, his pain, anger, guilt, confusion, sadness and regret were harnessed by the complete and unconditional love that embraced him.  It was the light that he had longed for for so long, and all of it was contained within the woman that sat in front of him at that very moment.

It made him cry, he was so happy.

Monica felt Chandler slip his arms around her, and pull her toward him, and she felt her heart burst.  It had been so long since he had been there, really, truly _been there_, in the moment, with her.  His pain and anger seemed to subside, just for a minute, and she could feel him letting her in, believing that she really loved him, and always would.

She knew that the moment would fade with the coming of the light of day; that when he was forced to face everything again, when he was forced to see Harold, to once again relive all that he had done, that Chandler would once more be lost to her, and that she would have to fight with all that she had to keep him afloat.

But they had this moment; they had tonight.  And Monica would hold onto it, even when all seemed lost.

_It was a release; it was painful and exhilarating all at once.  He felt the world around him tremble, as he gave his anguish a voice.  His mother had cried out, his father had frozen into a stunned silence.  _

_Chandler stood slowly, and walked out of the room, out the front door, and into the blinding rays of the morning sun._

_Nora was shaking.  She had been disturbed by her son's silence, but the alternative was unbearable._

_The scream.  That dreadful, heart-breaking scream.  She didn't know what to make of it, and she didn't know what to do about it._

_Before she had a chance to react, Chandler stood up, and walked out of the house._

_An instant later, Charles had chased after him._

_But Nora couldn't move; she couldn't find the strength to stand, or yell, or speak.  She looked up at the ceiling, then down at Harold, who was now playing with the food on his plate, seemingly oblivious to the haunting episode that had just transpired._

_What was she doing with this man?  She didn't love him anymore; she wasn't sure she ever had.  Her son hated him.  So why was he still in her life?_

_Maybe Harold was right; maybe she shouldn't send Chandler away.  Maybe that wouldn't solve anything._

_Maybe Harold was the one that needed to go._

His kisses were hungry and desperate.  His touch was warm but frantic.  But when the moment came, Monica knew that she needed him just as much as he needed her.

He had shied away from her touch for so long.

He had tried desperately to show her that he cared, but his fears had always overwhelmed him.

But tonight, that emotional barricade had been softened, and Monica absorbed his affections greedily.

He was kissing her neck; she was in ecstasy.

"Make love to me Chandler," she whispered seductively.

He muttered something indecipherable, before lifting her into his arms, and carrying her into the bedroom.

Charles walked down the corridor of the hospital, his eyes scanning the rooms as he passed.  He walked slowly and deliberately, his destination clear.

It took him ten minutes to find his room.

But when he did, he just stood there, in the doorway, watching as the man slept peacefully on the long hospital bed.

The fact that this man could sleep so well, while the man he'd destroyed slept so fitfully, was enough to make Charles sick.  

He walked fully into the room, and stood over the bed until Harold opened his eyes.

"Harold," Charles whispered menacingly, "we need to talk."

_Lights go out and I can't be saved_

_Tides that I tried to swim against_

_Have brought me down upon my knees_

_Oh I beg, I beg and plead_

_Singing_

_Come out of things unsaid_

_Shoot an apple off my head_

_And a trouble that can't be named_

_A tiger's waiting to be tamed_

_Singing_

_You are_

_You are_

_Confusion that never stops_

_The closing walls and ticking clocks_

_Gonna come back and take you home_

_I could not stop, that you now know_

_Singing come out upon my seas_

_Curse missed opportunities_

_Am I a part of the cure_

_Or am I part of the disease_

_Singing_

_you are, you are_

_You are, you are_

_You are, you are_

_You are, you are_

_And nothing else compares_

_And nothing else compares_

_And nothing else compares_

_And nothing else compares_

_You are, you are_

_Home, home where I wanted to go_

_Home, home where I wanted to go_

_Home, home where I wanted to go (you are)_

_Home, home where I wanted to go (you are)_

_(Clocks, by Coldplay_)


	17. Orion In The Sky

_AN: This one is a little short, but I needed to end it where I did.  Sorry! ;)  Review anyway, so that I know you're still there…_

_Regression_

_~Orion In the Sky~_

_But I love you baby_

_And I know you and I_

_Can find a way to heaven_

_Just like Orion in the sky_

_He's the long lost hero_

_He's the guardian of your son_

_But can he protect us baby_

_From all the sad things we've done_

_Charles raised his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the harsh desert sun.  His eyes scanned the empty road that lay ahead of him.  For a moment, a wave of panic flowed through him; he couldn't see where Chandler had gone.  A million horrible thoughts went through his head—he was only eleven years old; anything could've happened in those few precious minutes that Charles had hesitated back in the kitchen.  Charles took a ragged breath, and scanned the desert again._

_He appeared, like a mirage, a few short yards away.  He was standing on the other side of a Joshua tree, his back to the house._

_Charles took another deep breath, and walked toward his son.  He was hesitant about his approach, unsure about how Chandler would react to him.  _

_For a moment, Charles stood behind Chandler, studying his back silently.  The boy was slight; too thin for his age and frame.  His head sat stiffly on hunched shoulders, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.  He looked as if he had the entire weight of the world on his tiny shoulders.  It was killing Charles that he didn't know what was going on with his own son._

But then, it was really his own fault; he never really took it upon himself to get to know Chandler.  He was so consumed with his own problems; his coming out, his divorce, his move to Las Vegas.

_How could he have let down his only son so terribly?_

_"Chandler?" Charles kept his voice low and soft, but it didn't prevent Chandler from starting._

_Chandler didn't turn around; he continued to stare blankly at the horizon in front of him._

_"Son, please talk to me.  Please," Charles begged, as his throat tightened, and his eyes watered.  He blinked back the tears, and tried to swallow down the lump.  _

_Suddenly, Chandler turned to look up at his father, and Charles was taken aback._

_Chandler's eyes were filled with what could only be described as an unsettling combination of anger, hopelessness, and fear.  Charles could no longer fight his own emotions; he broke down, and was startled by his son's complete lack of emotion in that moment._

_"It's over," Chandler suddenly whispered, and walked past his father, as Charles fell to his knees in tears.  _

_Charles was overwhelmed with guilt, and now, with rejection.  Charles didn't know exactly what Chandler had meant with his words, but Charles could only assume that his son wanted nothing to do with him anymore.  Unsure what to do next, Charles simply sat on the desert floor, reeling from his loss._

Present

One Week Later

The Day Before Nora's Arraignment

"Hey, Chandler," Phoebe smiled, as she walked into Monica's apartment.

"Hey Pheebs," Chandler replied softly.

"You okay?" Phoebe walked into the living room, and sat down on the sofa next to Chandler.

"Yeah, I'm just tired," Chandler smiled stiffly, and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Where's Monica?"

"At work.  She should be home in about an hour."

"Your mom's arraignment is tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Chandler nodded sadly, and looked down at his hands.

"Is Harold gonna be there?"

"I think so," Chandler shrugged.

"Have you…ya know, seen him yet?"

"No," Chandler whispered distractedly.

"So, can, um, can I tell you something?" Phoebe asked hesitantly.

"Sure," Chandler snapped out of his daze, and looked at Phoebe.

"I just…I wanted you to know that I think you are really strong.  I know that I, ya know, make jokes about you and Ross and stuff, but…I just don't think anyone else would have handled themselves so well.  Certainly not Ross," Phoebe laughed.

"I—thanks Pheebs, that means a lot to me," Chandler smiled sincerely.

"I—I wanted to tell you about something that happened to me, when I was on the street," Phoebe looked at her hands, and began to fidget with the seam of her shirt.

"Okay," Chandler nodded, and turned his body so that he was fully facing Phoebe.

"So, when I was living out on the street, a lot of times, men would try to, ya know, proposition me.  And I mean, they would always just take 'no' for an answer, and run off all embarrassed," Phoebe shrugged, "But this one time, this guy tried to force me to…and when I wouldn't he kind of kicked me, and…anyway, I got lucky, because a cop was walking by, and heard me yelling, and he pulled the guy off before he could do anything."

"God, Phoebe, I had no idea," Chandler placed his hand on Phoebe's shoulder.

"I mean, it was nothing compared to what you went through, but…when the police asked me if I wanted to press charges, I just kind of froze.  And—and then I thought about how this guy was probably some rich business man, and I was just some homeless girl, and that if I pressed charges, then I would have to see him again, and I just—I never wanted to see his face again!  So I didn't press charges, and I look back on it now, and I think, how could I have done that?  What if that guy did that to some other girl?  And what if there was no one there to stop him next time?  And I just hated myself for being so weak.  And then I look at you, and I see how what happened to you was like, a million times worse, and you are facing this, and you are going to be okay—" Tears slid down Phoebe's cheeks, and she hiccupped as the onslaught continued down her face, smearing her mascara, and making her look older, and very tired.  Chandler had a feeling that she had never revealed this incident to anyone before now.

He grabbed a tissue from the end table, and handed it to Phoebe, before pulling her into a hug.

"If I am gonna be okay, Pheebs, it's only because I have you guys," Chandler whispered into Phoebe's trembling shoulder.

Phoebe sniffled loudly, and Chandler continued.

"Pheebs, I think you are one of the strongest people I've ever met.  And I am scared to death about what I have to do tomorrow.  I never want to see him again.  But I'll do it for my Mom.  She needs me, just like I need her, and you guys.  I don't think what you did was weak Pheebs.  I think anyone would have done the same thing, especially if they had no support system.  The fact that you survived out there on your own is a testament to how tough and courageous you are."

Phoebe sniffed, and pulled away from Chandler to wipe her eyes.  She smiled and looked up at her friend.

"You know, I'm supposed to be making _you_ feel better, not the other way around."

"I do feel better," Chandler assured her, and pulled her into another hug.

"Thank you," Phoebe whispered.

"No problem," Chandler smiled, and kissed Phoebe's temple.

They pulled back, and looked at each other for a long moment.

"Don't tell anyone, kay?" Phoebe smiled sheepishly.

"You have my word," Chandler replied softly.

_Nora looked over at Chandler, as he sat stoically in his seat.  She wasn't sure what had happened, but something had changed in her son since the incident that morning._

_Nora, Harold and Chandler were on their way back to New York.  The airplane was only half full, and Chandler had insisted that he sit in a different row from his mother and Harold._

_Chandler had stormed back into the house that morning, and demanded that they leave Las Vegas.  He'd said nothing else the rest of the day, and continued to stay silent up until the trio had boarded the airplane._

_Charles had come back into the house twenty minutes after Chandler had, looking worn and deflated.  When Nora told Charles that Chandler wanted to go back to New York, Charles had flatly replied that he thought it was best._

_And now Nora sat on the airplane, her head swimming in confusion.  Her son had turned into a bitter, angry little boy, in a matter of hours, and she had no idea what to do about it._

_It just kept getting worse._

_Maybe somewhere in the southern hemisphere_

_There could be room for all this love_

_Where they've saved a place for innocence_

_And what is still mysterious_

_And their dreaming time_

_They're dreaming time_

_Because we've broken down the wilderness_

_And we've blackened up the skies_

_And we cry 'cause we've got no vision left_

_While the smoke gets in our eyes_

_And there's no more time_

_And the dream is dying_

_But I love you baby_

_And I know you and I_

_Can find a way to heaven_

_Just like Orion in the sky_

_He's the long lost hero_

_He's the guardian of your son_

_But can he protect us baby_

_From all the sad things we've done_

_Now I know there's no sense in hiding_

_And we can't escape this war_

_And I have made my peace with dying_

_Down here on this killing floor_

_In a world gone blind_

_Where there's no more time_

_But I love you baby_

_And I know by and by_

_We gonna find a way to heaven_

_Just like Orion in the sky_

_He can walk upon the water_

_He can shine for everyone_

_But can he protect us baby_

_From all the sad things we've done_

_Is it too much to ask in a lifetime_

_For just one shot at happiness_

_Do you just have to laugh at the right lines_

_Until you come face to face_

_With the looking glass_

_To be reckoned with the sins of our time_

_I love you baby_

_I can see you and I_

_As we fly away together_

_Up to Orion in the sky_

_He's the last of the fallen angels_

_He's the light of the Southern Cross_

_Maybe he can take us baby_

_Back to the paradise we've lost_

_So I'll see you darlin'_

_Now fly baby, fly_

_Down across the Fiji Islands_

_To where the Seven Sisters cry_

_Gather all your dreams and take them_

_Somewhere so far out of reach_

_Follow the sword of the hunter, baby_

_And meet me on the beach_

_We are forever tied_

_Still on the run_

_To the medicine man_

_For all the sad, sad things_

_We've done_

_(Orion in the Sky, by S. Colvin - L. Klein) _


	18. Undertow

_AN:  I have to go to Orlando on business starting Wednesday.  I won't be able to update until I get back…sorry!  Please review, kay?_

_Regression_

_~Undertow~_

_You know I am tired._

_Cold and bony tired._

_Nothing is going to save me,_

_I can see._

_I can't say I'm fearful._

_I can't say I'm not afraid._

_I am not resisting, _

_I can see._

_That I don't need a heaven._

_I don't need religion._

_I am in the place where I should be._

_I am breathing water._

_I am breathing water._

_You know a body's got to breathe._

_I'm drowning, me._

_I'm drowning, me._

_('Undertow', by REM)_

It was a warm day, yet he could not stop shivering.  His eyes followed the stationary landscape, as the taxi weaved its way through the city streets.  He was vaguely aware that the driver had the radio tuned to a soft rock station, and that Monica was sat next to him, her tiny hand enclosed around his.

The ride had been silent since it began, twenty minutes ago.  Monica had attempted to reach out to him several times that morning, but it was clear that he was too nervous to reply.

He'd insisted that he was ready to see Harold; but the truth was, he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready.  It had been so long…and he had a horrible foreboding deep inside of him, gnawing at him.

They arrived at the courthouse a few minutes later.  Chandler wordlessly stepped out of the cab, as Monica paid the driver and followed him.  He stood in front of the courthouse for a long moment, staring up at the gleaming white columns that looked down on them ominously.

He felt Monica take his hand.  Sighing shakily, he looked straight ahead, and proceeded up the long concrete steps.

_The house seemed so much…colder.  He shivered, as he walked up the steps, and into his bedroom.  He closed the door behind him, drowning out the angry voices that filled the house._

_Harold and his mother were arguing, about what, he wasn't sure.  But he had heard his own name a few times, giving him a vague idea._

_It was his fault.  His mother was screaming and crying and it was all his fault._

_He slid down his bedroom wall, and closed his eyes.  He wrapped his arms around his head, and tried to drown out the yelling.  _

_Tears slid down his face, but he refused to acknowledge them._

_The darkness started creeping its way over him, through him and around him.  He struggled to fight it off, but his defenses were worn.  He sobbed for an immeasurable amount of time, and was not aware when the yelling had stopped._

_Nora opened Chandler's bedroom door, and found him curled in the corner of his room, fast asleep.  She crossed the room and knelt beside him, before placing a warm hand on his tear-streaked face._

_"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered softly, "I don't know what else to do."_

Charles met Monica and Chandler in the main corridor of the courthouse.

"Dad," Chandler looked at his father as he walked toward them, "What's wrong?"

"The arraignment was early.  I'm afraid you missed it."

"Oh," Chandler said, his shoulders drooping slightly.

"The charges have been dropped.  Your mother is filling out some paperwork, and we were going to go get something to eat," Charles said nonchalantly.

"Oh.  Is, uh, is Harold here?" Chandler's voice was involuntarily shaky.

"No.  He won't be bothering you or your mother again," Charles said vaguely.

"What does that mean?" Monica asked.

"I had a little talk with Harold a few days ago.  I wanted to ensure that Nora would not go to jail, but that more importantly, Harold would not bother you anymore.  We've filed a restraining order."

"Dad, I…I'm not sure what to say.  I—"

"Son," Charles placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder, "I wasn't there to protect you when I should have been.  I will not let him hurt you again."

"Dad, I appreciate that, I do…but I think I need to see him again."

"What?" Charles and Monica asked simultaneously.

"I need to resolve this.  And I think that the only way to do that is to see him again."

Charles sighed, and looked at the ground.  When he looked back up at Chandler, his eyes were glistening.

"I am so proud of you," Charles whispered, and pulled his son into a hug.

Chandler closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around his father.  He never expected Charles' words to have such an impact on him.  But he realized that somewhere deep down, he had been seeking his father's approval, seeking his love.

And now that he knew he had it, he held onto it, as tightly as he could.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Monica asked for what seemed like the twentieth time that evening.  

"I'm fine, Mon, really," Chandler smiled and kissed her hand.  

They had just dropped Charles and Nora at their hotel, and were walking back toward Monica's.

"Are you really gonna talk to Harold?"

"I feel like I have to.  There is so much stuff that happened that was left unresolved…things with my father, my mom, and of course with Harold.  I feel like if I am going to go forward, I need to close the book on the past…without burying it in my head, ya know?"

"It seems like things are really going well with your dad," Monica commented softly.

"Yeah.  I think we still need to talk…really talk, but I have a feeling…everything is going to be fine from now on."

"I wonder what your father said to Harold?"

"He won't say," Chandler shook his head, as they approached the subway station, "look Mon, I need to go to my place and pick up some clean clothes.  Can I meet you back at your place in an hour or so?"

"Sure.  Do you, uh, do you want me to go with you?"

"No, go home and relax.  You look tired."

"Gee, thanks," Monica slapped Chandler playfully on the arm.  In truth she was exhausted.  She had been up most of the night, worrying about Chandler, and his reaction when he saw Harold again.

"You know what I mean.  I'll be over in an hour or so, okay?"

"Alright.  I'll see you soon," Monica relented, and Chandler kissed her on the nose quickly before he descended the steps to the subway station.

"I love you," Monica shouted down the corridor, and smiled when Chandler turned and grinned, before blowing her a kiss, and disappearing around the corner.

_"I love you, sweetie, you know that I do.  But I can't…I am not able to understand how to help you.  These people will help you, and I hope that they can help me figure out what has disturbed you so badly."_

"Please don't leave me here Mom…I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry," Chandler's hiccupped cried broke Nora's heart.

_"Honey, you need help.  It's going to be okay, I promise."_

_"I'm sorry Mom, please, please…"_

_"Chandler, I have to go," Nora whispered sadly._

_"No!"_

_"Chandler, honey, come with me," a plump, friendly nurse took Chandler's hand, and tried to guide him down the hallway.  Chandler stubbornly yanked his hand away, and ran back toward Nora._

_"Mom, I'm sorry!  I'll be good, I promise!" Chandler screamed, as a large orderly wrapped his arm around his waist, and pulled him back toward the nurse._

_"Please forgive me, honey," Nora whispered, as she stifled a sob, and turned to walk out of the room, her son's desperate cries echoing in her ears._

_He hadn't done anything wrong.  Why hadn't she said something when he kept repeating that he was sorry?  Nora sat in her car stiffly, her head resting on her hands, which were gripping the steering wheel tightly.  She should have told him that nothing was his fault._

_But she didn't know what was wrong; so how did she know it wasn't his fault?_

Chandler slid his key into his apartment door, and opened it slowly.  He walked in and flipped on the lights to the living room.  He looked around, his eyes widening, and his heart racing.

The apartment was thrashed.  Papers were scattered all over the floor, and furniture was upturned.  One of his windows was broken, and the drapes were ripped off of the rod.

Chandler stepped fully into the apartment, his keys dropping to the floor.  

The first thought that went through his head, was that Harold had done this—but Harold didn't know where he lived, right?  Shaking his head, Chandler crossed the room, and searched for the phone.  He dug it out from underneath a pile of his clothing, and clicked it on.

For a moment, he stared vacantly at the keypad.  He knew he needed to call the police, but he needed Monica more.  He hit _speed dial 1_, and put the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?" The sound of Monica's voice was enough to calm him slightly.

"Mon, it's me," Chandler's voice was raspy.

"Hi, honey, what's wrong?"

"Um, someone, uh, broke into my place," Chandler whispered.

"Oh my God, are you okay?  Did you call the police?"

"Not yet…I—I needed to talk to you, more than anything," Chandler flushed at his blunt confession, and could practically hear Monica flush with delight.

Monica smiled at Chandler's honesty, but tried to conceal it when she spoke again.

"Hon, do you want me to come over there?" She asked, as she pulled her jacket and purse from the coat rack.

Silence.

"Chandler?  Do you want me to come over?"

She could hear him breathing heavily into the receiver; why wasn't he responding?

"Chandler?  What's wrong?" Monica felt panic rise up through her.

Silence.

"Chandler!!"  Monica gripped the phone tightly, as she dropped her purse and dashed across the hall.  She threw open the door, and Joey and Phoebe looked up from the television.

"Chandler, answer me, what's wrong?" Monica looked up at Joey frantically, and in an instant, Joey was on his feet.

"Where is he?" he asked, as he pulled on his shoes.

"His apartment," Monica whispered, and watched Joey run out the door, with Phoebe on his heels.

A small sob emanated from the other end of the phone, before the phone line went dead.

Monica dropped the phone, and ran out of the apartment.

_He lay on the hard medical bed, his eyes staring at the white wall blankly.  They were leaving him here, because he had driven them to; because he was a bad son._

_They were abandoning him, when he needed them most._

_Pulling his thin blanket around his shoulders, he closed his eyes, and tried desperately not to think of Harold; of his the disappointment he'd become to his parents._

_But everytime he closed his eyes, he saw Harold, and heard his voice, resonating inside his head:_

_"You're a bad boy Chandler.  No one will ever love you." _


	19. Fade to Black & White

_AN: Okay, I uh, got into a bit o' trouble with a certain someone…heh.  So I rushed home and wrote this chapter before '24' started.  Man you are lucky that I'm not into 'American Idol' much, huh?_

_Okay, I swear…THIS TIME, no more updates for a week.  My flight leaves tomorrow morning, so I'm serious.  OMG, '24' is on!  Bye._

_Regression_

_~Fade to Black & White~_

_I'm growing tired and time stands still before me_

_Frozen here on the ladder of my life_

_Too late to save myself from falling_

Joey and Phoebe scrambled out of the taxi, and dashed up toward Chandler's apartment.  They impatiently rode the elevator up to the 8th floor, and halted when they reached Chandler's door.

The door was ajar; and it was eerily silent inside.

Joey and Phoebe walked into the apartment tentatively, their eyes scanning the apartment with nervous anticipation.

"Chandler?" Joey called out, as he and Phoebe stumbled through the cluttered mess that surrounded them.  Phoebe headed into the bedroom, and Joey scanned the living room carefully.

What was going on?  Where was Chandler?  Was he hurt?  Was he dead?  The idea made Joey nauseous.

"He's not in his room," Phoebe said breathlessly, as she made her way into the kitchen.

Monica could not get the horrible images out of her head.  She tried her best not to imagine what kind of horrible things were happening to Chandler, but the images just kept coming.  She prayed that Joey was able to help him in time.

The taxi stopped at Chandler's apartment, and Monica absently tossed the driver two twenty's, before jumping out and racing into the building.

She walked up to the open apartment door, and saw Joey and Phoebe standing in the center of the chaos that was Chandler's apartment.

"Is he okay?" Monica asked, her throat closing up.

Joey turned to look at Monica, and the darkness that covered his eyes told Monica all she needed to know.

"He's not here," Joey whispered, "We don't know where he is."

Monica took a sharp breath, and looked down at the floor, where Chandler's telephone lay in two pieces—as though it had been dropped.

That was the last thing she remembered, before darkness overtook her.

_He was surrounded by the darkness once more.  He'd grown accustomed to it, but was never completely comfortable within it.  What he wanted, more than anything, was to find his way out of this fog on his own.  He wanted to be strong enough to fight these devastating emotions.  But he wasn't sure he could do this alone._

_He opened his eyes, and was devastated to see that he was, in fact, completely alone._

_Sitting up slowly, he pulled himself out of bed, and shuffled sleepily toward the barred window.  He wrapped his skinny hand around the metal bars, and looked up at the diamond-studded sky.  The moon was full that night, and seemed to be smiling down at him, taunting him, shining with a splendor that Chandler would never know again._

_He let go of the bars, his arms dropping to his sides with weary resignation. He looked up toward the haunting moon once more, the light reflecting the solitary tear that slid down his face._

"Oh my God, are you okay?  Did you call the police?"

"Not yet…I—I needed to talk to you, more than anything," Chandler flushed, and smiled slightly.  He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he whipped around to find Harold standing in the middle of his living room.

Chandler vaguely heard Monica's voice, but was completely rooted to his spot.  He stared at Harold incredulously, as though he were waiting for him to simply disappear.

Harold took a long step toward Chandler, and opened his mouth to speak.  Chandler jerked backwards, his eyes widening as Harold extended his arm to grab his shoulder.  

Chandler dropped the phone and pushed Harold to the ground, before running as fast as he could out of the apartment.

He tripped, somewhere down the street, and fell onto a street vendor, twisting his ankle in the process.  As he struggled to get back on his feet, he saw Harold, advancing toward him, sweat pouring off of his round face.

"Stay away from me you son of a bitch," Chandler rasped, as he backed up toward a brick wall.

"Chandler…we need to talk.  Things aren't…the way you think they are." Harold wheezed, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"What are you—you aren't even supposed to be near me!" Chandler screamed, his emotions finally taking a defiant hold.

"Chandler…please," Harold held up both hands in surrender.

Chandler leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes slowly.

"Chandler, look—your memories…they're false."

Chandler's eyes shot open, and he glared at Harold sharply.

"I'm not saying that it didn't happen—I'm saying it wasn't me."

"What?"

"Chandler, when your mother accused me of—this—I tried to explain to her that it wasn't me.  It was never me.  I tried to protect you from him.  And I thought—"

"Who?"

"Chandler, you know.  You know it wasn't me.  Somewhere, deep down, you can see those memories the way they really were."

"You are lying!" Chandler hissed.

"I'm not.  And deep down, you know that your father is the one to blame—not me."

Chandler was shaking his head vehemently, but Harold continued.

"We knew something was wrong, and we could never put it together.  But you always acted so strangely after your father came to visit you.  Then he moved to Vegas, and you tried to kill yourself, so we took you out to Vegas to see him.  But you freaked out, and we had to do something.  Your mother was so confused.  I finally put it all together, but by then, it was too late."

"No—no, you're making this up," Chandler sobbed, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"I'm not, son, please—"

"Get away!  Get away you son of a—God, I hate you!  I hate you!  You fucking bastard—" Chandler broke down completely, and collapsed to the ground.

"Chandler—"

"Get the fuck away from him," a voice from behind caused Harold to turn, but he was unprepared to meet the large fist.

Joey shoved Harold against the wall, and swung at him again.  Harold stared at the red-faced man in horror, and was more than relieved when his blonde friend pulled him back.

"Joey, he's not worth it," Phoebe whispered, as she glared at Harold.

"Get out of here, before I call the cops," Joey growled, and watched Harold look down at Chandler, before skulking off.

Monica held Chandler's head and shoulders in her lap, as she rocked him back and forth.

"It's okay, Chandler, he's gone," she whispered softly.

Chandler stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocussed.

He didn't want to believe Harold, but now his memories seemed fuzzy and illusory.

Who could he trust, if he couldn't trust his own memories?

_I can't light no more of your darkness_

_All my pictures seem to fade to black and white_

_I'm growing tired and time stands still before me_

_Frozen here on the ladder of my life_

_Too late to save myself from falling_

_I took a chance and changed your way of life_

_But you misread my meaning when I met you_

_Closed the door and left me blinded by the light_

_Don't let the sun go down on me_

_Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see_

_I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free_

_But losing everything is like the sun going down on me_

_I can't find, oh the right romantic line_

_But see me once and see the way I feel_

_Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm_

_But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal_

_Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me (Elton John, Bernie Taupin)_


	20. With the Phoenix Rising

**AN: I am very, very sorry for the delay.  There was…chaos, post Orlando.  And then my computer crashed.  And I was gonna finish this on Wednesday, but then Matthew Perry was on _The West Wing_, so I didn't finish in time to post on Wednesday.  Damn, Matty looked good on _The West Wing_, huh?  That is one fine looking man.**

**And now, back to the Chandler torture.**

_Regression_

_~With The Phoenix Rising*~_

Darkness.

It had consumed her, briefly; and she was vaguely aware of the voices that filtered their way into her subconscious, beckoning her into the light.

Monica opened her eyes, her brow furrowing slightly.  Where was she?  Why did her head hurt?  Why was Joey looking at her like that?

"Mon, you okay?" Joey placed his arm around her shoulder, and guided her to a sitting position.

"Yeah.  What happened?" Monica raised her hand to her forehead, and blinked several times.

"You-you fainted," Phoebe said, as she and Joey helped Monica to her feet.

"Wh-" Monica's eyes widened, as she studied the ruin that surrounded her.  And suddenly, everything came flooding back.  She was in Chandler's apartment.  And she was there because he had suddenly stopped talking to her on the phone earlier.  And when she'd gotten here, he was nowhere to be found.

The panic that had filled her previously returned; she felt her eyes well up with tears, as she looked up at Joey's concerned face.

"He-he's not here?"

Joey shook his head somberly.

"Are you okay?" Joey asked softly.

"We need to find him," Monica whispered.

"I know," Joey replied, his own eyes glistening.  He looked down suddenly, in a futile attempt to hide his emotions from Monica.

She smiled, and placed a shaky hand on his cheek.

And she hoped that Chandler knew how much he meant to the man that stood before her.

She smiled sadly, as Joey took a long, deep breath, and set his jaw, before bolting out the door.

*

He saw them as soon as he rounded the corner; Chandler on the ground, with Harold hovering ominously above.

His face reddened, as he sucked in a ragged breath.  

"Get the fuck away from him."

Harold turned, and Joey swung his fist into the man's face.

What could only be described as a homicidal rage overtook Joey, as he shoved Harold against the cold brick wall.  With fire in his eyes, he dared Harold to fight back; but to no avail.  Phoebe pulled Joey back, and Joey snapped out of his hateful trance long enough to see Chandler, lying in Monica's arms, once again broken and battered.

The sight before him should have sent him into another frenzy; instead it stopped him, and made him realize that what he was doing was not going to help his friend.  He glared at Harold, and told him to leave, before turning his attention back to Chandler.

**

The wall was stark white; so white, in fact, that she began seeing charcoal blotches jump on and off in the literal blink of an eye.

It was her mind, playing tricks on her.  She had been staring at the wall for an undisclosed amount of time (minutes? hours? days?) and her tired eyes were wreaking havoc on her mind.

_Tick, tick, tick._

The clock kept constant beat, reminding her that time was passing, with nothing but silence to fill it.

Phoebe sighed, and looked down at her feet.  Her orange-tipped toes were scrunched into little fists—the only visible indication that she was anything but relaxed.

_Tick, tick, tick._

She looked up as Joey walked into the room, his eyes bloodshot and his shoulders hunched.  He slumped wordlessly into the seat adjacent to Phoebe's, and sighed heavily, as he adjusted the ice pack that had been hastily wrapped onto his hand.

Phoebe studied Joey's hand for a long moment.  She smiled slightly, recalling their recent trip to Las Vegas, where Joey had found his hand twin.  He'd been so excited, like a child on Christmas morning.

Chandler's recent revelations had taken so much out of all of them.  Phoebe no longer saw the pure innocence that had once surrounded Joey.  She'd almost literally watched the protective shell of innocence slip away from all of them.

None more so than Joey. 

And then of course, there was Chandler.  Phoebe found that she just could not wrap her mind around all that Chandler was going through.  And she knew that deep down she didn't really want to know.

The thing was, none of them would ever really know, or understand, what was going on inside Chandler's mind.

And because of that, Chandler would always be alone.

Phoebe looked up at Joey's face, and saw that he was trying to fight off sleep.  His head jerked up and down like a bobble-head doll, and his eyes blinked wearily.

Phoebe wrapped her arm around Joey's neck, and pulled his head onto her shoulder.

_Tick, tick, tick_.

_"Would you like to tell me what you are thinking about right now Chandler?"_

_The familiar, irritatingly cheery voice of his therapist pulled him away from his dark thoughts.  He looked at the plump, dark skinned woman, then immediately looked back down at his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap._

_"I can't help you, if you don't help me," her voice was quiet, and filled with patience._

_Corrine sighed heavily, and stood up abruptly, before turning to look out her office window.  She had made little progress with Chandler Bing since his arrival over a month ago.  He refused to speak to anyone directly, and rarely made eye contact with anyone.  Corrine was convinced that the boy had been abused, but had found no physical evidence to support her theory.  She needed a breakthrough, and she needed it soon; Chandler's mother wasn't willing to keep her son in the center, if Corrine couldn't give her answers._

_Answers that only Chandler had._

_Sighing again, Corrine was ready to end the session, and send Chandler back to his room, when a remarkable thing happened._

_The slight, frail little boy, the boy that avoided speaking, the boy that barely ate or slept, the boy that had sat silently in her office everyday for a month…spoke._

_"I…want to go home."_

_Corrine whipped around, stunned.  She sat down in her chair slowly, afraid that any sudden movements would startle the boy into silence again._

_"You want to go home?"_

_Chandler shook his head, "I said I…I don't want to go home."_

_His voice was timid and shaky, and Corrine now saw that she hadn't heard him correctly the first time._

_"Why don't you want to go home, Chandler?"_

_"I…don't want to be in the dark."_

_The vagueness of the statement confused Corrine, so, against her better judgment, she pushed forward._

_"Did…did someone at home hurt you?" _

_Chandler visibly shrunk into his chair, and Corrine knew she had hit on something._

_"Chandler, has someone been hurting you at home?"_

_"It's dark," Chandler whispered softly, a lone tear slipping from his right eye, and down his flushed cheek._

_"Chandler—" Corrine stopped, and noted that he had closed himself off again.  She nodded slowly, stood up, and timidly walked toward Chandler._

_"You've made excellent progress today.  Why don't we call it a day, and we can start fresh tomorrow, okay?"_

_Chandler shrugged noncommittally, as Corrine led him to her office door._

_He paused briefly in the doorway, and turned to look back at her._

_And in a flash, she saw that they had only scratched the surface; the pain that this boy carried, was going to be with him—with them—for a very long time._

"How are you feeling?" Monica asked, as she walked into Chandler's hospital room the next morning.

"Okay," Chandler said flatly, his eyes never leaving his thin, pale yellow blanket.

"What's wrong?" Monica knew that the question was stupid.  What _wasn't _wrong?  

"Mon, I—" Chandler stopped, and sighed heavily.

"What?" Monica sat down on the bed, and gingerly took Chandler's hand.

"I—I need to talk to Renee," he finally blurted out quickly.

"Oh," Monica slumped, her disappointment evident in her voice.  Why didn't he want to talk to her about what had happened?  Monica knew it was selfish, and perhaps irrational to believe that she could help him more than a trained professional could, but she couldn't help herself.  She needed Chandler, and she needed him to need her, and her alone.

"Are you mad?" Chandler asked softly.

Monica shook herself out of her thoughts, and looked down at Chandler.  He looked up at her, his sapphire eyes begging for the right answer.  Monica smiled reassuringly.

"Of course I'm not mad, honey.  I'm just concerned.  You've been acting so…I mean, I know that your encounter with—with him shook you up, but—"

"I have things that…need to be resolved," Chandler sighed.

Monica nodded, and watched Chandler close up again.  She felt her heart ache with despair.  It was like all of their work had been wiped out with this one encounter.  Chandler had completely regressed into the shell he had been when he'd first recovered his memories.

And Monica wasn't sure they could get through this a second time.

_"Shhh…" the voice carried the ominous tone that sent his heart racing in fear._

_He clutched his pillow tightly, and squeezed his eyes closed.  A large hand fell onto his shoulder, and turned him to his back._

_"Look at me," the voice demanded, and his stomach rolled._

_He opened his eyes, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness._

_"You've been a bad boy, son," the voice was filled with disappointment._

_Chandler fought back sobs, his heart breaking as he absorbed the words.  He was vaguely aware that he was being touched, being abused._

_He was numb to it now._

_But as his eyes focused on the face that hovered before him, his mind began to register all that was happening._

_He closed his eyes, not willing to believe that this was real._

_Not willing to believe that a father could be so cruel to his only son._

Chandler's eyes shot open, and he let out a primal cry.

"What happened, Chandler?" Renee asked softly, as she placed a warm hand on his.

"It was him.  It—it couldn't have been though.  I—I was so sure…" Chandler sat back in his seat; his eyes filling with unshed tears.

"Who did you see?"

"M-my father.  It was my father," Chandler whispered, as though he couldn't believe it.

"It was your father that abused you?"

Chandler closed his eyes tightly, and shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered raggedly.

_"I'm taking Chandler for a walk," Charles called from the front porch of his desert home._

_Chandler felt his shoulders cinch, as his father laid a heavy hand on his thin shoulder._

_"Come with me, son."_

"I don't know," he repeated once more.

_The room was quiet for a long while.  Corrine watched, as Chandler played with a loose string on his oversized navy sweater.  She wondered what he was thinking; she wondered if he would ever tell her._

_"It's my birthday," Chandler whispered suddenly._

_"Oh," Corrine mentally scolded herself for not checking Chandler's file for something as mundane as a birth date.  She vowed to get something put together for the child before day's end.  "Happy birthday."_

_"It's not so happy," Chandler muttered softly.  He pulled on the renegade string, and hung his head lower, as tears started falling from his eyes._

_"I'm sorry that you have to be here on your big day," Corrine offered._

_"Where else could I go?" Chandler shrugged._

_Corrine knew that she couldn't allow herself to become too attached to these children.  They were her patients, after all, and eventually, they would leave, and she would have to let them go._

_Logically, it made sense for her to keep her distance.  It was easier on everyone._

_But this child looked up at her, his eyes pleading, needing someone to love him.  _

_And she couldn't resist his desperation.  She couldn't keep her distance._

_She would become the friend he needed, and the mother he deserved._

_It went against all logic, and all that she believed._

_She stood up, and walked around her desk.  She crouched next to him, and pulled him into a deep hug._

_"Happy birthday, Chandler," she whispered again, as he cried into her chest._

She would be there for him, no matter what.

_From childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were; I have not seen_

_As others saw; I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring._

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone;_

_And all I loved, I loved alone._

_Then- in my childhood, in the dawn_

_Of a most stormy life- was drawn_

_From every depth of good and ill_

_The mystery which binds me still:_

_From the torrent, or the fountain,_

_From the red cliff of the mountain,_

_From the sun that round me rolled_

_In its autumn tint of gold,_

_From the lightning in the sky_

_As it passed me flying by,_

_From the thunder and the storm,_

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view._

_-The End- _

**_('Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe 1829)_**

*Chapter title borrowed from the book;_ With The Phoenix Rising: Lessons from Ten Resilient Women Who Overcame the Trauma of Childhood Sexual Abuse_

By Frances K. Grossman, Alexandra B. Cook, Selin S. Kepkep, Karestan C. Koenen

Hardcover, July 1999, Jossey-Bass


	21. Everything's Made to Be Broken

**AN:** Me, again.  Okay, just a few notes for folks.

First, thanks to **everyone** who has taken a moment to review this story.  This fic was never meant to be this long, so you can see how inspirational feedback can be, lol.

**Monica-Bing**: I did get all of my luggage back, thank you!  Now go finish _When You Think Of Me_!  Scoot!

**Neka**: Yes, I know my profile picture is always Ewan, but you have to understand the depths of my obsession for that man…lol.  I will consider your idea though, LOL.

**Jenni: **You are the Queen banner-maker woman extraordinaire! I _lub_ my DWL banner! *hugs*!

Now I'm not saying this is the last chapter…though I am pretty sure I am losing people with the length of this one, ha.  Maybe a chapter or two more?  (Didn't I keep saying that with _The Theory_? lol.)

_Regression_

_~Everything's Made To Be Broken~_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

_('Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls)_

_She watched him, from across the Center's common room, sitting at a large table all by himself.  His face was the picture of concentration, as he studied the puzzle that lay in a hundred pieces before him.  Corrine smiled, and began to walk toward him._

_"Corrine," the voice came from behind her.  She turned to see her good friend Mark heading her way._

_Mark Novak was the only other on-site child psychologist in the center.  Corrine had confided in him several times regarding Chandler Bing.  In Mark's opinion, Corrine was becoming too attached to the boy, but he kept this to himself._

_"Mark, welcome back.  How was the trip?"_

_"It was…educational.  The children were great, but it rained the whole time I was there."_

_"Well, that is what Seattle is known for," Corrine laughed._

_"Har har," Mark shook his head. "Anyway, I wanted to see how you were faring with your star patient," Mark nodded toward Chandler, who was still deeply engrossed in his puzzle._

_"He closed up a lot after his birthday," Corrine whispered somberly, "But at least he's talking."_

_"Do you think I could talk to him?"_

_"Uh, I don't know that he'll want to talk with you," Corrine responded reluctantly._

_"Well, you can introduce me, at least," Mark persisted._

_"I suppose," Corrine relented, and led Mark to Chandler's table._

_Chandler looked up as Corrine approached, a tall, dark haired man close behind her._

_"Hi Chandler," Corrine smiled broadly._

_"Hi," Chandler whispered, before looking back down at the table._

_"I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine.  This is Mark Novak.  Mark, this is Chandler Bing."_

_"Hi Chandler," Mark smiled._

_"Hey," Chandler said softly, without looking up._

_"Corrine tells me you are quite the puzzle whiz," Mark smiled and slowly sat down in a chair across from Chandler, "I used to be pretty decent myself."_

_When Chandler didn't reply, Mark looked up at Corrine, then back over at Chandler._

_"So, can I help you with this?" Mark reached across the table slowly._

_Chandler jerked back, and looked up at Mark wildly.  Mark immediately retracted._

_"I'm sorry, I—" Mark stammered, and looked back over at Corrine, who was rounding the table to calm Chandler._

_"Sweetie," Corrine sat next to Chandler placed her hand on his shoulder, "he's my friend.  He won't hurt you, I promise."_

_Chandler continued to stare at Mark warily, his skinny hands clenched into two tight fists.  He took a deep, ragged breath, and broke his gaze, when he looked back down at his puzzle._

_Corrine and Mark watched silently, as Chandler appeared to be processing what Corrine had told him.  After a long, uncomfortable moment, Chandler straightened, and unclenched his fists.  He looked back down at his puzzle, and began studying it again as though nothing had happened.  Mark and Corrine shared a puzzled look, and moved to stand._

"A beach," Chandler suddenly whispered.

_"What?" Corrine asked softly._

_"It's s'posed to be a beach," Chandler said, as he pushed a jigsaw into place._

_"Oh.  Okay," Corrine smiled, and scooted her chair in slightly.  She smiled faintly at Mark, who hesitantly returned the smile, and turned to help the young boy with the puzzle in silence._

_"Chandler, it's your dad again.  I just…well, I wanted to see how you were.  Monica called and told us what happened.  Can you call your mom or me back?  I love you son."_

Chandler stared at the answering machine for a moment, an indecipherable expression on his face.  After a moment's deliberation, he hit the 'erase' button, and collapsed onto his sofa, covering his face with his hands.

He wasn't ready to face this, not yet.  He was still so confused, and so lost.  The offender in his dreams alternated between his father and Harold, and at times, there was no face at all.

He shook his head, and let out a low, frustrated groan.  This was getting him nowhere.  He couldn't live in hiding for the rest of his life; and he couldn't live the rest of his life like a victim.  He'd spent too much of his childhood that way.

Chandler stood up, and straightened his shoulders in determination, before walking to his front door.  He swung it open confidently, but all of his resolve evaporated when he saw his father standing on the other side of the door, his hand poised to knock.

"Chandler, there you are," Charles smiled warmly, and moved toward Chandler.

"No, stay away from me," Chandler yelled, as he backed away from Charles.

"Chandler, what's going on?" Charles looked bewildered.

Chandler blinked back his tears, and shook his head in frustration.  Why couldn't he control his emotions better?  He was tired of crying, of feeling so miserable.  He looked back up at his father, his eyes shining with tears.

"It was you.  You did this to me," Chandler's eyes narrowed, and he launched himself toward his father, knocking both of them off of their feet.

He cried, as he pounded his fists into his father's chest, his entire body trembling with rage and fear.

"I hate you, I hate you," he muttered robotically, his mind shutting out everything around him.

"Chandler, what in God's name are you doing?" Chandler was barely aware that his mother and Monica were pulling Chandler off of Charles.

"It was you," Chandler hissed again, before breaking down.

"What did you say to him?" Nora looked over at Charles, who was wheezing.

"I…don't…know," Charles gasped between breaths.

"What happened, sweetie," Monica asked, as she combed her hand through Chandler's sweat soaked hair.

"It was him.  He—he hurt me," Chandler hiccupped, never taking his eyes off of Charles.

"What?" Nora asked incredulously, as Charles struggled to stand.

"Son, I would never…why do you think…what—" Charles shook his head vehemently, tears running down his face as he closed his eyes.

"Chandler, why would you…did you remember something new?" Nora asked softly.

"Harold," Monica looked up at Nora, "Harold must have said something to him."

"Harold is a world-class liar," Nora huffed loudly.

"Harold," Charles whispered, his mind racing.

"I don't know what to believe," Chandler said softly, as he looked up at his father.

"Please, Chandler, please believe me when I tell you that I could never…never intentionally hurt you.  I love you, son, please—"

"I need time," Chandler interrupted briskly, "to think."

"Okay," Charles nodded, "Okay.  But I will be here, when you need me, okay?  Just say the word, and I'm here." Charles looked directly at Chandler as he spoke.  Chandler nodded silently, and looked at the floor.

_Nora led Charles down the narrow corridor, and toward the common room of the center.  They walked through the wide doorway, and scanned the room, searching for their son._

_Charles spotted him first.  He was seated on a large, orange tattered sofa near the west window.  He was wringing his hands nervously, as he spoke to a heavy-set black woman._

_Charles paused for a moment, to observe his son.  He was still so thin; he looked much younger than his twelve years.  But he looked more alive than he had in Las Vegas._

_The woman who was speaking with Chandler looked up as Charles and Nora approached._

_"Mrs. Bing, hello," she smiled warmly._

_"Hello Corrine," Nora smiled, "This is Chandler's father Charles."_

_"Hello Mr. Bing.  I'm Corrine Murphy.  Please, have a seat."_

_Charles and Nora sat down next to Chandler on the sofa, but Chandler continued to stare at his hands._

_"Chandler, would you like to talk to your parents?" Corrine asked softly, as she sat down on a light brown leather chair that sat adjacent to the sofa._

_Chandler shook his head, and bit his lower lip._

_"Chandler, sweetie, we…we miss you so much.  Please talk to us.  Tell us how you are," Nora smiled nervously._

_Chandler looked up at Corrine, then looked over at his parents.  He stared at Nora's shoulder, still too nervous to look her or Charles in the eye._

_"Are you…still mad at me?" he asked softly._

_"Oh, Chandler, we were never mad at you!  Is that what you thought?  Honey, you didn't do anything wrong—"_

_"Then why did you send me away?" Chandler raised his voice slightly, and Corrine was taken aback by his outburst.  Chandler had barely spoken above a whisper since his first day at the center._

_"Chandler, we just didn't think we could handle…we thought maybe these people could help you," Nora stammered._

_"What's wrong with me?" Chandler sobbed._

_"Honey, nothing…I…I don't know," Nora said, exasperated._

_Hurt by Nora's apparent frustration with him, Chandler stood up, and raced out of the room._

_Charles stood to follow, but Corrine stopped him._

_"Let me talk to him," Corrine said calmly, "Stay here.  I'd like a word with both of you."_

_Charles watched Corrine run out of the room, then turned to Nora._

_"I don't understand what's happened to him.  What's been going on?"_

_"Don't you dare accuse me, Charles.  He was fine up until a few months ago.  I haven't done anything—"_

_"Maybe **that** is the problem!" Charles growled._

_Seeing red, Nora slapped Charles hard across the face, and grabbed her bag.  She started to walk out of the common room, but stopped halfway, and spun around on her heel._

_"You haven't been there, Charles, I have.  He never got over the divorce, and the way we told him everything.  Maybe he hasn't come to terms with the fact that his father's name is Helena!  Don't you tell me how to raise our son!  I'm a better mother than you'll ever be!" Nora fumed, and stormed out of the room._

_Sighing heavily, Charles sank back down into the sofa, and dropped his head into his hands._

_Was it really his fault?  Had he really done this to his son?  Charles looked up toward the window that overlooked a large garden.  He saw Corrine, standing in the middle of the thin gray gravel trail, rocking his son in her arms.  He watched, as Nora stormed toward them, and dragged a screaming Chandler away from Corrine, and toward her Mercedes._

_"Nora," Charles muttered, "what have you done?"_


	22. Searching Through the Rain

_Regression_

_~Searching Through the Rain~_

_When I was younger I believed, that dreams came true._

_Now I wonder._

_Cause' I've seen much more dark skies, than blue._

_Now I wonder._

_I keep on praying for a blue sky, I keep on searching through the rain._

_I keep on thinking of the good times, will they ever come again?_

_Now I wonder._

_Now I wonder._

_The rain pounded the windshield relentlessly, water streaking across the wide window like a cluster of transparent veins._

_The rhythmic squeaking of the windshield wiper was the only other sound.  Chandler sat huddled in the far corner of the front seat, his eyes staring straight ahead, unfocussed.  He'd stopped crying an hour ago, when it became apparent that his pleas were going unheard._

_Nora struggled to concentrate on the road ahead, slowing slightly as the storm raged heavier.  _

_Throughout the divorce proceedings, Nora had made a conscious effort to keep __Chandler__ out of her and Charles' problems.  She knew so many divorcees who used their children to get back at their exes.  She refused to be one of those people; she refused to use her only son to exact revenge on her ex-husband.  And she had been successful._

_Until today.___

_She had no reason to pull __Chandler__ from the center; he seemed to be progressing a bit, and Nora trusted the people that worked there.  No, what she had done she had done for purely selfish reasons._

_And now her son was curled on the seat next to her, unresponsive._

_The idea that she was the reason her son was like this…it hurt more than anything she'd ever experienced.  Charles had hit a nerve; she knew that she should have been there more for __Chandler__; but she needed to release her frustrations over her failed marriage somewhere.  And in her efforts to keep __Chandler__ out of it all, she had neglected him completely._

_Until it was too late.___

_A gust of wind slammed into the car, and it swerved slightly, shaking Nora back to reality.  Taking a shaky breath, she pulled off the highway, and parked at a gas station off the main road.  She turned toward __Chandler__, and ran a shaky hand through his light brown hair._

_When he didn't respond, she sat back, and stared at his profile for a moment._

_He looked…so much like his father.  He had her eyes, but it was definitely Charles' nose and chin._

_His hair was Charles', but his hands, presently grasping his skinny legs, were hers.  They were soft, Nora noted with a small smile. She hoped they stayed that way._

_Chandler__ turned his head, but refused to meet Nora's gaze.  Nora took a deep breath before speaking._

_"Chandler, honey, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have taken you away like that.  I was angry…but not at you!  At your father.  He said some things…things that may be true, I suppose, and that's why I was angry.  I…honey, you know that I will always be here, if you need anything.  Please, just…tell me what I've done wrong," Nora's voice cracked, and she stifled a sob._

_Chandler stared at his mother for a moment, shocked that she was breaking down in front of him.  He'd never seen her cry before, and it disturbed him slightly.  What was he doing to his parents?  What could he do to make his Mom stop crying?  He swallowed hard, and reached a skinny arm out toward his mother, and tentatively touched her shoulder._

_Nora started slightly, but smiled almost immediately._

_"Mom, I'm sorry I made you so sad," __Chandler__ whispered._

_Nora let out a sob, and pulled __Chandler__ toward her.  She rubbed his back as she held him tight._

_"Honey, please stop blaming yourself.  I am only sad because I don't know how to help you…and that is not your fault.  I love you so much, and I just want you to be happy."_

_Nora held __Chandler__ silently, and did not pull away until he initiated it himself.  As he straightened himself back into his seat, Nora ran her hand through his hair again._

_"What do you want to do, __Chandler__?  Do you want me to take you back to the center?"_

_Chandler nodded silently, as he looked at his hands.  Nora smiled sadly, and started the engine._

_"Sorry," __Chandler__ shrugged, as Nora pulled out onto the road._

_"Honey, don't be sorry, okay?  I think Corrine is helping you a lot, and I am so grateful for that."_

_"Maybe I can come home soon," __Chandler__ whispered, more to himself than to Nora._

_"I'd like that, honey.  I'd like that very much."_

Chandler sat on the window seat in Monica's apartment, and watched the rain streak the large picture window in front of him.  There was something about the rain that was oddly comforting; it somehow embraced him, in a tight, grey cocoon of security.  Chandler lost himself in his thoughts.  He wondered which of his memories were true; he wondered if he should reveal his dilemma to Monica or one of his friends; he wondered if he would ever know what really happened.  Sighing softly, he stared up at the dark grey sky, and let his mind wander to better times.

_"What's a ten-letter word for fickle?" Monica tapped her pen on her lip, and looked at __Chandler__._

_"Huh? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking you look really cute in my pajamas," __Chandler__ grinned slyly, and kissed Monica's temple. _

_"Yeah, you just don't know a ten-letter word for fickle," Monica laughed._

_"Sure I do; capricious," __Chandler__ smiled triumphantly, "can we make out now?"_

_"As soon as you give me a six-letter word for red," Monica giggled, and snuggled closer to __Chandler__, as Joey walked in._

_"Hey!" Joey grinned._

_"Hey!" Monica and __Chandler__ replied._

_"What are you guys doing up?"_

_"Oh, we wanted to finish the crossword before we went to bed," __Chandler__ smiled, "Hey, do you know a six-letter word for red?"_

_Joey thought for a moment, "Dark red," he said._

_Chandler shot Joey an amused look, "Yeah, I think that's wrong, but there's a Connect-the-Dots in here for you later," he looked down at the paper, for a moment, then smiled, "Hey, how about maroon?"_

_Monica studied the paper for a moment, before smiling proudly. "Yes! You are so smart!" she exclaimed, and kissed __Chandler__._

_"Aww, you guys are so cute!" Joey grinned._

Monica stirred, and opened her eyes slowly.  She sat up, and felt the haze of slumber roll off of her slowly.  As her eyes focused, she spotted Chandler seated at the window, lost in thought.

She sat for a moment, and studied his profile silently.  He looked…exhausted.  Charcoal shadows had taken up permanent residence under his bright blue eyes.  

For as long as Monica had known him, Chandler had always had a smile on his face.  At times, the smile was knowing and backed with an acerbic remark; other times, his smile would light up his face, crinkling his eyes and the area around his mouth.  The latter was so contagious; everyone in the room had to smile with him.

Monica longed to see that smile again.

Chandler turned away from the window, and saw Monica, seated on the sofa, a single tear running down her porcelain cheek.  He stood up, and walked toward her.

"Mon, what's wrong?" Chandler asked, as he pulled Monica toward him, and rocked her softly back and forth.

"Oh, n-nothing," Monica sniffled in Chandler's shoulder.

"Mon," Chandler pushed Monica away, and held her shoulders with his hands.  He looked into her eyes pleadingly, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Monica shook her head, and Chandler pulled her toward him again.

"I—it's silly, really," Monica laughed.

"What is it?"

"I miss your smile," Monica sniffled, and pulled away from Chandler to look at him, "I miss the old you…I—I just want you to be happy again," Monica shrugged, and looked at her hands, as her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Oh," Chandler replied quietly, and he stood up suddenly.

Monica felt panic course through her suddenly; she'd hurt him—he was upset.  She stood up and struggled to repair the damage.

"Chandler, I didn't mean—I mean, um—"

Chandler turned and took Monica's hands in his.

"Mon, it's okay.  I'm sorry that I've upset you.  And I promise that I will figure this out and I will try…but what if…what if I'm never like that again?  What if I'm not the person you fell in love with?"

"No," Monica took a step toward Chandler, "I love you, for you.  It has nothing to do with how much you smile, or make me laugh.  I am upset, because I love you so much, and to see you in this kind of…I just want you to be happy."

Chandler nodded, and pulled Monica into a tight embrace.

"As long as you're here, I'll be just fine," Chandler muttered.

Monica smiled, and sunk into Chandler's embrace.  She ignored the tiny voices in the far corner of her mind; the ones that told her Chandler would never be the same, and neither would they.

The ones that told her that this alone could destroy them.

_Corrine watched, as __Chandler__ settled deeper into his bed.  The rain had finally let up, and the sky had cleared, revealing a diamond-studded, inky canopy._

_Corrine looked down at Chandler again, and noted that for the first time since his arrival, the boy seemed to be sleeping peacefully.  A small smile pursed his cherry red lips, and Corrine smiled too.  She pulled the thin blanket tighter around his skinny shoulders, and laid a quick kiss on his forehead._

_"Sweet dreams, __Chandler__," she whispered softly, and walked out of the room._

_When I was younger I believed, that dreams came true._

_Now I wonder._

_Cause' I've seen much more dark skies, than blue._

_Now I wonder._

_I keep on praying for a blue sky, I keep on searching through the rain._

_I keep on thinking of the good times, will they ever come again?_

_Now I wonder._

_Now I wonder._

_I keep on praying for a blue sky, I keep on searching through the rain._

_I keep on thinking of the good times, will they ever come again?_

_Now I wonder._

_Now I wonder._

_When I was younger I believed, that I could win._

_Now I wonder._

_There was a time when you and I, walked hand & hand._

_Now I wonder._

_I keep on searching for the old me, I keep on thinking I can change._

_I keep on hoping for a new day, will I ever feel the same?_

_Now I wonder._

_Oh I wonder._

_Now I wonder._

_('I Wonder' by Chris Isaak, ©1996)_

_AN: Some dialogue borrowed from episode 516; The One With a Cop._


	23. Fallen Angels

**_AN: Yeah, I know, I'm a bad, bad author.  I really want to update all my stories, but apparently, I have to pay all these things called "bills", and in order to pay them, I have to go to this thing called a "job"…it's very annoying, so I think that I am just going to have to win that billion dollars that Pepsi is giving away._**

**_If that doesn't happen, then expect some more delays, as I am also in the middle of moving.  _**

**_This fic is almost done, I swear.  Is anyone reading this?  LOL, doubt it.  Which means I am talking to myself.  But my mom always says "You can talk to yourself, as long as you aren't answering yourself, dear."  So, I won't do that.  Oh, are you sure you won't?  Well, I don't have to answer that here, do I?  No, but I will need your answer in the form of a question…_**

****

****

**_Regression_**

_~Fallen Angels~_

_I can see an angel walking,_

_Someone else is by his side,_

_I can hear an angel talking,_

_And he looks so satisfied...._

_I can see an angel smiling,_

_By his side I'll never be._

_In my heart I'll go on crying,_

_Only tears are left for me._

_("I Can See an Angel", by Kay Adelman)_

"Thank you for meeting with me Monica," Charles smiled, as he and Monica took a seat at a small table near the back of the hotel restaurant.

"Oh, of course," Monica smiled, "but why did you want to talk to me alone?"

"Well, I—"Charles looked down at his lap, "I was hoping Chandler had told you why he's so angry with me."

"No, he hasn't said anything," Monica replied honestly, "but I am getting worried.  He's closing up again.  He just hasn't been the same since Harold attacked him."

"I just—I wonder if Harold said something to him…to upset him?"

"Maybe," Monica shrugged, "but he won't tell me anything."

"Do you think…I mean I know it's a lot to ask…but do you think you could talk to him again?  See if you can get anything out of him?" Charles asked tentatively.

"I—I can try," Monica smiled.

"Thank you," Charles grinned and looked down to focus on his menu.

Monica watched Charles for a moment, and wondered why Chandler had reacted so violently to this man last week.  A fleeting, dark thought fluttered through her head, but she quickly shook off the notion.  _No, she thought, __Chandler__'s father was simply trying to help._

Only nothing really seemed that simple any more.

_Corrine leaned against the doorframe, a small smile playing on her lips.  Several yards away, Chandler was seated under a towering oak tree, with two other patients; Carrie, a young girl Chandler's age, and with her cinnamon hair and bright blue eyes, could have easily passed as Chandler's sister.  The other patient, Erik, was fourteen, and had jet black hair, and chocolate brown eyes._

_The patients were all here for different reasons, but had one common thread._

_All three children had tried to end their own life._

_The fact that __Chandler__ felt comfortable enough to socialize with other kids his age meant that he was healing, and that warmed Corrine's heart._

_What disturbed Corrine, was that she and __Chandler__ had yet to get to the root of his problems.  He still refused to talk about the abuse that had lead him down his dark path, and Corrine knew that if he didn't let it out, if he didn't talk about it, he would never be completely healed._

_The extraordinary sound of children laughing pulled Corrine from her reverie.  She looked over, to see the three children giggling, as though they were sharing some kind of inside joke._

_To hear children laugh…to see three children with such dark pasts smile so brightly…it was the greatest thing Corrine could imagine._

"This looks great," Chandler smiled, as Monica placed a plate full of food in front of him that evening.

"Thank you," Monica smiled warmly, and sat down across from him.  She watched Chandler pick at his food for a short moment, and then picked up her own fork.

They ate in silence for several minutes.  Monica swallowed down a bit of food, and looked up at Chandler again.  He was looking at his plate, and had yet to notice Monica watching him.

He'd stopped eating lately.  He would spend the majority of his meals pushing his food around, and only occasionally would he take a small bite of food.  Monica knew this, and wondered if he really thought she hadn't noticed.  

Monica needed an opportunity to bring up Charles.  She suddenly decided that this was her opening.

"Is the food okay?" she asked casually.

"Yeah, it's great," Chandler smiled tightly, and reluctantly shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

"You're not eating," Monica commented flatly.

"Well, what do you call this, then?" Chandler replied, his mouth still full of food.

"I mean in general.  You don't eat like you used to."

"What?" Chandler swallowed down his food, and put down his fork.

"Ever since that incident with your dad, and with Harold, you've been…withdrawn," Monica said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about this," Chandler pushed himself away from the table, and stood abruptly.

"Why?  Why won't you tell me what's going on?" Monica stood up, and followed Chandler into the living room.

"Monica, I told you, this is—"Chandler shook his head, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"None of my business?  Not for me to worry about?  Well I'm sorry Chandler, but I love you, and I do worry about you, and I'm not going to leave this alone this time!"

Monica stood there, rooted to her spot behind the sofa.  She watched, as Chandler dropped his head, and stared at his shoes.  He scuffed his toe into the floor, and shook his head, before looking back up at her.

"What if I'm wrong?" he whispered.

"Wrong about what?" Monica furrowed her brow, and crossed the room.

"Harold.  What if…what if it wasn't him?" Chandler's whisper was raspy and barely audible.

"You think it was your dad?" Monica felt her stomach turn.

"I don't know.  I don't want it to be him," Chandler sighed, and ran a shaky hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, Monica.  I didn't want to put you through more of my psychotic shit, I guess."

"Chandler," Monica grasped both of her boyfriend's clammy hands, "I'm not going to tell you again!  What happens to you happens to me.  You have to let me in."

"I'm sorry—"

"And for the love of GOD, stop apologizing!" Monica mock yelled, before pulling Chandler into a hug.

"Okay," Chandler mumbled into Monica's shoulder, eliciting a short giggle from the latter.

"So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about how to figure this out, and I was…I was thinking that I need to go upstate this week," Chandler said, an hour later.  He and Monica were curled on Monica's sofa, sipping tea, and talking out Chandler's latest problem.

"What's upstate?" Monica sat up and turned to look at Chandler.

"Not what, who," Chandler smiled, and ran his index finger down Monica's face.

"Okay, _who's_ upstate?" Monica giggled.

"An old friend," he replied softly.

"Can…can I come with you?" Monica ventured.

"I was hoping you would," Chandler whispered, as he pulled Monica toward him.

"Good," Monica smiled, as Chandler kissed her cheek, chin and neck tenderly.

_She promised herself she wouldn't cry.  But when he turned around, launched himself into her arms, and wrapped his skinny arms around her waist, she could no longer hold back the flood of salty tears that had been threatening to cascade down her face all afternoon._

_She had always been taught that getting personal with her patients would destroy the treatment.  But she never quite understood how people in her profession **couldn't** get personal, particularly when children were involved._

_Some of these children had no one else to love them._

_Corrine crouched down as __Chandler__ pulled away from her, and wiped the tiny tears from his shiny cerulean eyes.  She was constantly amazed that anyone could ever hurt this child; that anyone would want to mute the beauty and wonder that shone so brightly from the sea of blue that she found so utterly captivating._

_"You are going to be just fine," Corrine whispered softly, and combed her hand through his soft brown hair._

_"I'll miss you," the boy whispered shyly._

_"And I will miss you, so much," Corrine replied honestly._

_"Can I come back and visit you sometime?" __Chandler__ wondered._

_"You can come back anytime you want to, sweetheart, and in fact, I hope you do!"_

_Chandler__ smiled, and the smile lit up his face like Corrine had never seen.  She pulled him into one more tight hug, as Charles and Nora Bing approached._

_She watched him walk away, flanked by his parents, and the smile on her face faltered slightly.  She knew it was time to let him go, but deep down, Corrine felt that __Chandler__ needed much more than his parents were capable of giving him.  She watched him get into the car, the same car he'd been drug to nearly six months earlier, and she wondered what would become of _Chandler___ Bing._

_She would receive only one letter from him, several months after his release.  The letter would be sent from a small private school not far from the center.  In it, __Chandler__ would tell Corrine that he was happy, but that he missed her, and wished her well._

_Corrine would cry that night, because she knew that Chandler's happiness was superficial, and that eventually, he would have to face his demons again._

_Alone.___


	24. Rhyme & Reason

**_Regression_**

_~Rhyme & Reason~_

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry_

_You don't know how lovely you are_

_I had to find you, tell you I need you_

_Tell you I set you apart_

_Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions_

_Oh let's go back to the start_

_Running in circles, coming up tails_

_Heads on a science apart_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_Oh it's such a shame for us to part_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_No one ever said that it would be this hard_

_Oh take me back to the start_

_('The Scientist', by Coldplay)_

Miles of seemingly endless fields, rows of copious fruit trees, quaint wooden farms, and jagged wire and wooden fences eventually gave way to a lush green valley, and rolling hills.

Nestled among the emerald hills was a large brown and white building that could have easily passed as a hotel, or even a picturesque bed and breakfast.  Gleaming picture windows smiled onto the sprawling grass-covered grounds, and a small garden and flowerbed gave evidence that the area was meticulously cared for.

Inside, vibrant colors and natural wood furnishings shone in the late afternoon sun.  The wooden tables were surrounded with multi-colored chairs, and covered with games and activities ranging from puzzles to Lego's.

Near the enormous picture window that overlooked the main grounds, sat a ratty orange sofa, and a matching chair.  A cool breeze whispered through the room, as ghosts of the past rattled papers and wisped through draperies faintly.

Chandler stood in the doorway of this room that time forgot, his eyes scanning the empty space, and his mind absorbing the past.  It seemed like nothing had changed—and as he stepped into the room for the first time in years, he felt his heart constrict:  suddenly, he was eleven years old again.  He was that slight, frail boy who believed with all of his being that he was completely unloved.  That boy who had truly believed that death was the only option; that he would never be happy in the life he'd been cursed with.  

Chandler shuffled into the room, his hand absently brushing over an unfinished jigsaw puzzle.  His eyes were unfocussed, and his heart was beating rapidly.  He could see, in his mind's eye, the days of loneliness and insecurity; the days of stubborn tears and haunting memories.  And slowly, those memories melted, and Chandler saw tears being wiped away tenderly, and warm hugs that he prayed would never end.  The man that stood in the center of the room was now trembling, as the onslaught of memories overwhelmed him.

She rubbed her weary eyes, and closed the file folder that sat in front of her.  It had been a long day, but then, her most productive days usually were.  Lately though, the long days had begun to take their toll on her aging body.  Standing slowly, she mentally counted the creaks her body made as she slowly stretched.  A soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called.

"Sorry to interrupt Corrine, but there's a young man here to see you."

"A young man?" Corrine echoed.

"Yes.  He says his name is Chandler Bing?"

Corrine felt her heart stop.  Chandler…_her_ Chandler…was here.  She smiled brightly, and made her way to the door.

"Where is he?" Corrine could barely contain her excitement.

"He's in the common room."

How long had it been?  Twelve, thirteen years?  She wondered what he looked like, where he was living, what he was doing now.

She wondered if he had fallen in love.  She wondered if he was happy.

Had he faced his demons?  His sudden visit meant that he was either facing them now, or had faced and conquered them.

Corrine wagered that the latter option was not likely.

She made her way to the common room, and stopped at the door.  

Her heart swelled; the shaky, timid boy that she had once known had grown into a strong, handsome young man.  He seemed lost in thought, but Corrine did not yet disturb him, as she was still trying to compose herself.  Her eyes fell to a young woman, strikingly beautiful, standing a few feet away from her.  The woman turned as Corrine entered the room.  Corrine approached her slowly, still unwilling to break Chandler from his reverie.

"You must be Corrine," the woman with ebony hair and arresting sapphire eyes whispered, as she extended her delicate hand.

"Yes," Corrine smiled and took the woman's hand in her own.

"I'm Monica Geller, I'm Chandler's girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you, Monica," Corrine's smile broadened, and she felt pride swell within her.

The hushed conversation pulled Chandler from his trance; he looked over at Corrine, but could not seem to move from his spot in the center of the room.

Corrine felt his eyes on her, and she turned slowly.  She wanted to cry; those eyes, those captivating cerulean eyes, hadn't changed at all.  She could still see the pain residing in them, after all this time.  Corrine had a sudden urge to hug him.  She began to walk toward him, but he crossed the room in three large steps, and was in front of her before she could blink.  He wordlessly pulled her into a hug, and Corrine felt her throat clench.

He was taller than she now; Corrine was forced to reach up, in order to wrap her arms around Chandler's neck.  Despite this, she felt him bury his head into her broad shoulder, the way he had countless times before, and in an instant the years melted away, and she was again his guardian angel, watching over him, and loving him when no one else would.

It was the most precious moment of her life.

"Chandler, I can hardly believe it," Corrine rasped, and her voice hitched.

Chandler pulled away from Corrine, and took a minute step back.

"I was worried you wouldn't remember me," Chandler smiled slightly.

"You're my Chandler, I would never forget you," Corrine combed her hand through Chandler's hair lovingly.

Chandler grinned, and flushed slightly.  He shifted nervously, and scanned the room.

"Did you meet Monica?" Chandler looked at his girlfriend affectionately.

"I did.  She's beautiful," Corrine grinned, and Monica blushed.

"Yeah, she is," Chandler extended his hand, as Monica approached.  She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You look…wonderful," Corrine sighed, unable to tear her eyes away from the man-child that stood before her.

"So do you," Chandler whispered, his eyes watering.

"What are you doing now?  Are you still in New York?" Corrine had so many questions she could hardly convey them.

"I live in Manhattan, and I'm doing well.  But lately—"Chandler's voice faded, and he dropped his head, as though he were suddenly embarrassed.

"Your memories have come back?" Corrine finished, and took Chandler's hand tenderly.

Chandler nodded wordlessly, and stared at his feet for a moment.  Corrine opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Chandler looked up at her.

"I'm just…I'm so confused by my memories.  And I thought about all of the things that had happened, and I realized that the only person who could help me…was you."

Corrine felt her heart swell.  This boy had certainly grown up, and she felt the pride that a parent would feel, as she cupped Chandler's face with her left hand.

"I will certainly do everything I can to help you get past this.  I think that this conversation is about fourteen years overdue."

Chandler nodded, and looked around the room slowly.

"This place…hasn't changed at all.  It's exactly how I remember it…and it was the place that I would always take myself to…when I wanted to feel safe."

"You don't take yourself there anymore?" Corrine asked softly.

"Sometimes.  I have this therapist back in the city, and she forced me to establish a safe place, and it was always this room…and you.  But outside of that…in my real life, it's always Monica," Chandler looked at Monica and pulled her toward him slightly.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly.

"That is so wonderful…I was so worried the day you left here.  I wondered how your parents would handle all that had happened."

"They dealt with it by pretending nothing had ever happened.  And eventually, I did the same.  Then, a few months ago, I started getting nightmares…"

"The same that you used to have?"

"Yeah," Chandler nodded, though in his head he'd just made the connection.  He had forgotten that the bad dreams had started to occur nightly here at the center.

_Corrine was working in her office later than normal, but she had let her paperwork pile up, and she needed to catch up.  She sighed, and sat back in her large brown chair.  Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift away from work.  A nice hot bath…yes, that was what she really needed right now._

_A piercing scream filled the night, and jerked Corrine from her thoughts.  She stood and bolted out of her office and into the large corridor._

_The night nurse was already making her way down the hall, so Corrine hurriedly caught up to her.  Another scream shattered the silence, and this time, Corrine recognized the voice.  _

_She rushed into the darkened room, and turned on a small desk lamp.  She looked over at the small bed that sat under the room's only window.  The little boy was thrashing around in his bed, sheets kicked off, and pillow discarded to the floor._

_Corrine made her way to the bed, and laid her hand on the boy's right shoulder._

_"Shh, Chandler, it's okay," she whispered._

_She continued to soothe the boy, as he was slowly pulled into consciousness._

_"No, please…" Chandler mumbled._

_"It's okay, Chandler, you're safe, I'm right here."_

_He opened his eyes slowly, and looked around frantically.  He began to register where he was, and his breathing began to slow slightly._

_"It was just a dream," Corrine whispered, and the boy turned to look at her._

"You're safe here Chandler.  I won't let anything happen to you."

_Chandler nodded, and sat up slightly, and scooted toward Corrine.  She was sat on the edge of his bed, humming softly.  He laid his head on her lap, and drifted off again slowly._

Chandler, Monica and Corrine made their way to the sofa, and settled in.  

"You said that you were confused about something?" Corrine asked slowly.

"Yes.  My memories…I'm not sure which are real, and which are false anymore.  And I—" Chandler sighed, and looked at his hands.

"What is it?" Corrine leaned forward, and placed her hand on Chandler's.

"I'm not sure what really happened to me.  And I'm not sure who was really hurting me back then…"

"We never really flushed out what exactly happened to you, Chandler.  I always suspected abuse, but when you arrived, there was no physical evidence…and you never really said—"

"It was almost always sexual," Chandler interrupted, "so you wouldn't have seen anything."

"I suspected that as well," Corrine muttered sadly.

"I was so sure it was Harold.  But then he said…and then my memories, they changed, and I thought…but it couldn't have been—" Chandler's sentences were disjointed, and Corrine could sense the anxiety rising in him.

"You wonder if it was your father?"

"Yeah," Chandler looked up at Corrine, his eyes begging the question.  "Do you know Corrine?  Do you know who did this to me?"

AN: Yeah, that's right, I'm ending it there.  Ha.  Thank you all for reviewing!  Feedback inspires me! Do it again!!


	25. The Gloaming

**_Regression_**

_~The Gloaming~_

_We're rotten fruit_

_We're damaged goods_

_What the hell, we've got nothing more to lose_

_One gust and we will probably crumble_

_We're backdrifting_

_All evidence has been buried_

_All tapes have been erased_

_But your footsteps give you away_

_So you're backtracking_

_('Backdrifts' by radiohead)_

Chandler, Monica and Corrine made their way to the sofa, and settled in.  

"You said that you were confused about something?" Corrine asked slowly.

"Yes.  My memories…I'm not sure which are real, and which are false anymore.  And I—"Chandler sighed, and looked at his hands.

"What is it?" Corrine leaned forward, and placed her hand on Chandler's.

"I'm not sure what really happened to me.  And I'm not sure who was really hurting me back then…"

"We never really flushed out what exactly happened to you, Chandler.  I always suspected abuse, but when you arrived, there was no physical evidence…and you never really said—"

"It was almost always sexual," Chandler interrupted, "so you wouldn't have seen anything."

"I suspected that as well," Corrine muttered sadly.

"I was so sure it was Harold.  But then he said…and then my memories, they changed, and I thought…but it couldn't have been—"Chandler's sentences were disjointed, and Corrine could sense the anxiety rising in him.

"You wonder if it was your father."

"Yeah," Chandler looked up at Corrine, his eyes begging the question.  "Do you know Corrine?  Do you know who did this to me?"

Corrine looked at Chandler for a long moment, her eyes glued to his.  It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul, but in Chandler's case, it was so true.  She could see the pain, the fear, the anticipation, and the sadness that resided in them, and she wanted nothing more than to take that pain away from him.

If only she could.

"I…I honestly don't know," Corrine finally whispered sadly, and tried to fight back tears as she watched his face fall.

"Oh.  Well, I—it was worth the effort, huh?" Chandler chuckled sadly, and looked down at his hands.

"Chandler, I never met Harold…I never saw him interact with you.  But I did meet your father, and I saw the way he was with you back then.  I never saw fear in your demeanor…but I saw pain and guilt in his.  I'm not saying that he is the one that did this to you…but I think you need to talk to him.  There are issues there…that much I know."

Chandler sat silently for a moment, absorbing all that Corrine had told him.  Her answer was so unclear.  But he was beginning to realize that nothing about this was simple—nothing was black and white.  Perhaps his issues with his father were clouding his memories.  He'd never truly dealt with them.  He knew Corrine was right; he needed to talk to his father.  He needed to ask the question that was haunting him—but he was also afraid that confronting his father would destroy their relationship completely.

"The conversation…will be painful, Chandler.  But you will never be at peace until you know for sure," Corrine whispered, as she took his hand in hers.

Chandler smiled slightly.  She was his conscience; she was able to read him like no one could.  He looked over at her, his smile broadening.

"Thank you," he said tenderly, his eyes shining.

"I wish I could have helped you more," Corrine sighed sadly.

"You've helped me more than you know," Chandler replied.

*

The drive back to the city was relatively quiet.  Chandler was deep in thought, and Monica respected that he needed his space. And in all honesty, she really didn't trust herself to speak at the moment—the lump that had formed in her throat as soon as she'd seen Corrine embrace Chandler, and it had yet to wane.

It warmed her heart to see how much love Corrine had for Chandler.  She could practically see the love radiating off of the plump woman.  She smiled, as she recalled Corrine's repetitive insistence that he keep in touch this time.  He'd promised, over and over, as they'd walked out to the car, but Corrine persisted.

_"I mean it __Chandler__.  If I don't hear from you, I'll track you down, and—"_

_"Corrine, I swear!  I will keep in touch!  Monica will see to it," __Chandler__ laughed._

_"I don't want to wait fourteen years this time," Corrine scolded, then pulled __Chandler__ into a tight embrace._

"Mon?" 

"Yeah?" Monica shook herself out of her reverie, and looked over at Chandler.

"Are you okay?" Chandler looked at her, concern crossing his face.

"Yeah…I was just…thinking," Monica smiled, and placed her hand on Chandler's forearm.

"Oh.  Okay, um…well, are you hungry?  I was thinking we could stop at this place down the road…"

"Yeah, I could eat something," Monica replied.

Chandler nodded, and exited off the highway.  He pulled into the parking lot of a dilapidated, grungy diner, and Monica cringed slightly.  What was it with Chandler and these old dirty places anyway?

"'s this okay?" Chandler looked over at her.

"It's fine," Monica said, a little too cheerfully.

Chandler laughed, and got out of the car.  He looked up at the half-broken sign that barely hung over the diner.  And it hit him.  He knew this place.  He'd been here before.

_"__Chandler__?  Are you hungry?" Nora's voice broke through the unbearable silence that had filled the car since the trio's departure from the center._

_Chandler looked up at his mother, who had craned her neck around to look at him, curled in the backseat of the Mercedes.  He shrugged noncommittally, and looked back down at his hands._

_Charles glanced at his son through the rearview mirror, before pulling off of the highway, and into the dirt lot of a small diner._

_The broken family piled out of the car, and made their way into the diner.  _

_Red vinyl booths lined the walls, and a large, linoleum covered counter sat in the center of the room.  In front of the counter, sat a line of vinyl covered chrome stools; behind the counter, a window to the kitchen, and a waitress station._

_Nora, Charles and __Chandler__ made their way to one of the corner booths.  Chandler and Nora sat on one side, Charles on the other._

_For a long time, the table remained as silent as the ride that had preceded it.  Charles stared out the window blankly; Nora played with the end of her napkin; and __Chandler__ continued to stare at his hands._

_"What can I get you folks?" a gum chomping, young waitress asked._

_"Coffee," Charles muttered, without ever taking his eyes off of the scenery outside._

_"I'll…have a salad," Nora smiled, her voice carrying the politeness that seemed to want to compensate for Charles' rudeness._

_"How about you, little guy?" the waitress smiled._

_Chandler__ shrugged, his eyes glued to his lap._

_"How about a grilled cheese?" Nora placed her hand on __Chandler__'s shoulder._

_Chandler__ shrugged again, and Nora looked up at the waitress, and nodded._

_The waitress left, and Nora turned to glare at Charles._

_"You don't need to be so rude, Charles," Nora snapped._

_Charles turned to look at Nora, and sighed heavily.  He looked over at __Chandler__, who was busy pulling at his shirt sleeve nervously._

_Chandler__ felt his father's eyes on him.  He looked up slowly, and tried to decipher the expression on Charles' face._

_His father looked tired, and sad.  But he also seemed to be angry, and frustrated, and __Chandler__ couldn't tell which of these emotions was directed at him._

_Charles watched as __Chandler__ looked up at him.  His son's eyes seemed full of sadness, and fear.  Charles could feel his own emotions overwhelming him.  He needed to know what was causing this; he needed to know why his son was so filled with dark emotions._

_The answers from his psychologist at the center were frustratingly vague.  He had hoped that by placing __Chandler__ in the center, the answers to their issues would emerge._

_He needed to know why __Chandler__ wanted so badly to die._

_He needed to know why his son hated him so much,_

_He needed to know what he had done to __Chandler__ that was so wrong._

It was late, by the time Monica and Chandler made it back to the city.  Chandler opted to stay at Monica's, and by the time they reached her apartment, both were exhausted.

Monica collapsed onto her bed, her eyes half open as she watched Chandler's staccatoed, shaky movements on the other side of the bed.  It was then that he realized how nervous he really was.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine," Chandler turned his head, and smiled at Monica, "go to sleep."

"Mmkay," Monica mumbled, and began to drift off.

Chandler lay down next to Monica, and stared up at the ceiling for several quiet moments.  He felt his anxiety overwhelming him, and though his body was exhausted, sleep eluded him.  

Monica pulled herself closer to him and snuggled herself against his chest.  He felt her arm snake around his midsection, and hug him tightly.

"It'll be okay Chandler," Monica said softly, as she drifted off to sleep.

Chandler let her words, the warmth of her body, and the steadiness of her breathing calm him, and guide him to a light sleep.

_AN: Ah yes, another chapter, and still no answers…they are coming, I swear.  Another chapter or two, and all will be…as resolved as it's gonna get…_


	26. The Bermuda Triangle

**_Regression_**

_~The Bermuda Triangle~_

_Way down in the triangle_

_Where the sea was smooth as glass_

_Giving you one answer to a question_

_That you never thought you'd ask_

_--Bob Welch_

In the midst of darkness, perceptions can be deceiving.  Children often mistake a pile of clothing, hanging limply on a desk chair, as a ferocious monster, or a hovering menace.

In the light of day, clarity returns, and the pile of clothing is not offered a second glance.

The mid-morning sun burned brightly over New York City, giving the grimy city an almost incandescent glow.  The streets shimmered, and the towering skyscrapers lit up the skyline as though aflame.

Children giggled, tourists wandered in awe, and taxi's blared; the city was full of life, and in the light of day, not nearly as menacing as darkness made it seem.

All of this went unnoticed by the young man who wandered the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed.

He was deep in thought, on his journey toward the hotel that was temporarily housing his father.

Charles Bing had always shown a detached indifference toward his only son.  After his marriage fell apart, however, Charles had had an overwhelming urge to right the wrongs; to overcompensate for years of neglect.

His efforts had been met with quiet defiance, and haunting misery.

Chandler had never understood his father's detachment, and by the time Charles had moved to reach out, Chandler had been too far inside of himself to understand the motives.

Charles had no one to blame, but himself.

The hotel was filled with and artificial chill; Chandler hugged himself as he crossed the over-decorated lobby, and pressed the elevator button.

He shivered; whether it was from the air-conditioned air, or his own nerves he couldn't be sure.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open slowly, silently.

Chandler stepped inside the metallic box, and pressed the button that would take him to the fourteenth floor.

His mind raced, and his hands trembled.  Though he had insisted to Monica that he needed to do this alone, he now stood inside the ascending elevator, overwhelmed with doubt and loneliness.

He wanted Monica here with him, reassuring him, and giving him the courage he needed to do this.

The elevator dinged again, and once more the doors slid open.  Chandler stepped off of the elevator, his legs barely holding him up.  Taking a deep breath, he proceeded toward his father's hotel room.

He stood in front of the door, staring at the brass numbers, for an immeasurable period of time.  A million thoughts ran through his troubled mind, the most prevalent being; what if he was wrong?  Was he about to completely destroy the fragile relationship he had with his father?  Shaking his head in irritation, he straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the door.

*

He was the last person Charles had expected to see that morning.

But now, the man that had caused his only son so much agony was standing before him, and it took all that Charles had not to strangle him right where he was standing.  Instead, Charles straightened, and tightened his face.

"Harold," Charles muttered, "You've got a lot of fucking nerve."

"Charles," Harold smiled sweetly, and stepped into the hotel room uninvited, "it's good to see you again."

"What do you want?" Charles replied shortly.

"I'm just…curious…is all.  How is Chandler?  Has he had any new _breakthroughs_ lately?" Harold strolled nonchalantly through the room.

"Can you explain to me how that is _any_ of _your_ business?" Charles snapped.

Harold turned, and smiled.  He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

He was trembling, visibly trembling.

Chandler took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, trying to center himself.  He heard the door swing open, followed by a surprised gasp from his father.  Slowly, Chandler opened his eyes, and focused on his father's shocked expression.

He was still trembling.

"Chandler," Charles rasped, concern suddenly lining his tired eyes.

"Dad," Chandler managed to whisper shakily.

"Son, I—"

"Looks like three's a crowd," Harold suddenly appeared behind Charles, a strange grin on his face, "I'll just be going."

Charles watched Chandler's eyes widen in shock, then narrow in anger, as the latter backed up against the wall of the hallway.

Charles quickly stepped out of the doorway, and stood between Harold and Chandler.

"Just go," Charles glared at Harold, who had not taken his eyes from Chandler.

Harold grinned, and tore his eyes from Chandler's.  He looked over at Charles, and slapped him on the shoulder playfully.

"Good to see you again, Charles.  We should do this again sometime!" Harold smiled broadly, and turned on his heel, before making his way toward the elevator bay.

Once Harold had walked away, Charles turned to Chandler, who was still staring straight ahead.

"Son, I don't know why he came here…but I won't let him come near you, I promise…"

Chandler looked over at his father, his eyes filled with accusation.

His trembling increased and he shook his head angrily.

"Chandler, come on," Charles said softly, and led his son into his hotel room.

He was no longer in control of his own actions.  He was barely aware of the fact that his father was leading him into his hotel room, and toward a small blue sofa.  His mind was in a haze, and his heart was racing wildly.  He looked up as his father, who was crouched in front of him, and his face darkened.

"Why was _he_ here?" Chandler growled shakily.

"I—I honestly don't know.  Chandler—"

"I don't believe you!" Chandler screamed, and stood abruptly.

"No, Chandler, you have to believe me!  I have no idea why he was here!  He just…came by!  And I was in the process of throwing him out of here when you came…"

"Bullshit!" Chandler pushed his way past Charles, and headed toward the door.

"Chandler, I swear!" Charles turned and followed his son, "I—I'm so sorry—"Charles' voice hitched, and he let out a short sob.

Chandler stopped at the door, and turned slowly.  He glared at his father, and approached slowly.

"What?" Chandler whispered, his eyes narrowing.

"I—I wasn't there when you needed me…and I feel like maybe you're shutting me out again to get back at me for not being there when you were going through…and for…but Chandler, I don't know why Harold came here—"

"You," Chandler said sharply, as he jabbed his finger in his father's face, "have no idea what I've been going through…you have no idea what—" Chandler stopped suddenly, his eyes clouding over.

"What?  Tell me, Chandler, please.  I need to know what I've done, and what I can do—"

Chandler's head jerked up, and he fixed his striking blue eyes on Charles.

Corrine was right about Chandler's eyes, of course.  Charles could see everything within them.  The intensity that resided there was too much for Charles; he was forced to look away; to look down at his shoeless feet.

Chandler sighed deeply, and took a step back, away from his father.  He instinctively shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked back onto his heels, before scratching his head and silently crossing the room.

Charles looked up, and watched Chandler walk toward the window that overlooked the busy New York streets below.

Chandler suddenly seemed oblivious to all that was around him; he stood at the window, staring blankly at the scenery beyond, for several agonizing minutes.  When Charles finally worked up enough nerve to follow Chandler to the window, Chandler whipped around, and stopped Charles in his tracks.

"Dad," Chandler's voice was raspy, and sad, "Harold—he said that…that it was you that did this to me…and I didn't want to believe him, but then my memories, they…they got all fuzzy, and sometimes I'd see you, and sometimes I see him—but I don't know what is real anymore…I don't know who was really in my room at night…who dragged me into the desert in Nevada…who really invaded my dreams…my subconscious…I really, really don't want it to be you, Dad, but you have to tell me.  You have to be honest with me, okay?  If you really love me like you say you do, then you will tell me the truth, no matter what, okay?  I just…I just need to know, Dad, please," Chandler's voice cracked halfway through his speech, and by the time he finished, he was stifling a sob.

Charles stared at Chandler, shock resonating through him…was his son really accusing him of…Charles felt a wave of nausea course through him, and he wavered slightly on his feet, before backing toward the arm of the sofa.  He leaned against it heavily, and closed his weary eyes.  

"You—you think it was me?" Charles' voice had a child-like tone, and the way he looked up at Chandler left little doubt in the latter's mind—it was never his father.  It was always Harold.

"I—I did," Chandler sobbed, and fell to his knees in front of Charles, "I'm sorry, Dad," he croaked, "I'm so sorry—"

"Chandler," Charles said softly, as he slid to the floor to meet his son's eyes, "you have nothing to be sorry for," Charles cupped Chandler's face in both of his well-manicured hands, "It's me who should apologize."

Chandler's eyes widened slightly, and his heart raced.  _No, no, it wasn't him.  Please Dad, tell me it wasn't you…_

"I think that…this is partly my fault.  Sometimes, when you were younger, I would sneak into your room after a night out, or after a show, and I would watch you sleep, because that was the only time I really got to see you.  I never really knew how to talk to you when you were awake anyway…I felt like you really didn't want me in your life, and to tell the truth, I wasn't exactly sure what I should do or say to you…I wasn't a father, really.  I was too self-involved to be a father.  So I figured I would watch you sleep, while I figured out how to be your dad…the dad you wanted me to be.

At some point, I'm not sure when, you started tossing and turning in your sleep, and you would cry out, like you were having a nightmare.  So I would sit on your bed, and pull you toward me, and try to soothe away your bad dreams.

But there was one time, several weeks before you…before you jumped from the banister…"Charles blanched, and swallowed hard, before looking down at the floor. His voice suddenly changed; it became slightly raspy, and vacant.  "I was up visiting you, and I was in your room, watching you sleep, and…I don't know how long I was in there, but I heard the door open, and I turned, expecting to see your mother…coming in to tell me to leave you alone.  But it wasn't Nora; it was Harold.  And he saw me, and he kind of, started, and looked at the floor, and started to back out of the room.  And I turned to look at you, and I saw that you had woken up, but you hadn't turned around; you were burying yourself into your sheets, and whispering something I couldn't hear.  I debated about talking to you, but I wanted to see just what Harold was doing going into your room.  I left, and confronted Harold.  He—he claimed that he had gone into the wrong room.  I—I didn't know what to do…and I left the next day, and I thought I should say something to Nora, but she was…mad at me for something, and I didn't want to just accuse Harold of…and I kind of forgot about it, I suppose…until you…until you jumped.  And I was so…so filled with guilt, and I wanted to…I wanted to say something, but…I didn't.  And I have no good excuse, and I'm so sorry…but at the time, I kept telling myself that I never _saw_ anything…and that he would never be charged based on that _one_ incident…" Charles shook his head and laughed bitterly, "I was such an idiot."

Chandler stared at his hands, as he processed all that Charles had confessed.  He suddenly felt so…exhausted.  Everything that Charles had said seemed to fall into place with Chandler's disjointed memories.  But Chandler's head still felt heavy, and his heart still hurt.  Finally, he looked up at his father, and took a deep breath.

"Dad," Chandler whispered softly, "I—I don't know what to say.  I—I guess that makes sense…but… after all of that happened…after we came out to Las Vegas…after all of that, why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know," Charles replied softly, as a fat tear rolled down his cheek.

"Why was he here today?" Chandler asked again, as he hugged his knees tightly.

"He…I think he wanted to know if you had confronted me about this.  I think he wants to know if he is off the hook for all of this…" Charles ventured, and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"I—I need some time, I think," Chandler sighed, and stood up slowly.  He helped Charles to his feet, and began walking toward the door again.  He reached for the door, but turned around before opening it.

"I don't know how much time I'll need.  You should go back to Vegas for now.  I'll call you, okay?"

Charles walked toward Chandler slowly, and looked at him intently. "Promise?"

Chandler smiled slightly, and nodded slowly, "Promise."

Charles extended a shaky hand, and Chandler took it, before pulling Charles toward him, and enveloping him in a tight hug.

Charles closed his eyes, and allowed a small smile.

"I love you son," he whispered.

"Love you too, Dad," Chandler whispered, and pulled away, before walking out the door.

**AN: Holy crap that took a long time.  And it still didn't come out the way I wanted it to.  Oh well, maybe I'll fix it later…**

**Review, and let me know what you think…I think I have about one more chapter left in me…**


	27. Walk On

**AN:  Well, we've finally made it to the end.  I'm afraid some of you will be frustrated with the lack of resolution on some points here, but I did warn you that not all loose ends would be tied up, lol.  **

**This one is dedicated to all of you wonderful people who stuck by this fic AND reviewed it to the bitter end.  You rock, and I love you! (Not like thaaaat, come on!)**

**Also, I know I've used the lyrics in a previous chapter.  The repetition is intentional.**

**_Regression_**

_~Final Chapter~_

_Home… hard to know what it is if you've never had one_

_Home… I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home_

_That's where the hurt is_

_I know it aches_

_How your heart it breaks_

_And you can only take so much_

_Walk on, walk on _

_Leave it behind_

_You've got to leave it behind_

_(Walk On~U2)_

Two months later 

"Chandler, I'd like you to tell me more about your relationship with your father," Renee looked up from her notebook, and set down her pencil.

"Then, or…now?"

"What do you think?"

"I just _love_ it when you answer my question with a question," Chandler sighed sarcastically.

Renee smiled wryly, but said nothing in response.

"I…I haven't spoken with my father since that day," Chandler said quietly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Chandler shrugged, and looked past Renee, and out the window, "I suppose I don't know what to say to him."

"Are you still angry with him?"

"I…guess, a little bit."

"You can't move forward, until you heal these old wounds, Chandler.  We've made a lot of progress regarding your feelings toward Harold, and what he did…but your parents are a part of this too.  You can't close them off, you can't ignore the issue."

"I know.  But this thing with Harold—"

"I know it's frustrating, Chandler, but you need to deal with things that you can control.  And that is something that is completely out of your grasp.  You mentioned that your friend Phoebe told you that karma would eventually catch up with him.  Do you believe her?"

Chandler sighed, and looked at his hands.  He bit his bottom lip, and shook his head slowly.

"No, I don't, not really.  It has nothing to do with Phoebe, really, I mean, I respect that she totally believes that he will pay somehow, but…I just don't believe in karma, really."

"Why not?"

"Because, I know, now_ I know_, that I did nothing wrong, and that I didn't deserve what happened to me.  But sometimes…late at night, I wake up sweating, and I can feel him there, smell him on me, and it scares me, it scares the _shit_ out of me, because I know that no matter what I do, _he_ will always be there, haunting me.  And no amount of therapy, or forgiveness, or _acceptance_, will change that.  None of that will take away the darkness, and none of it will keep me from seeing his fucking face when I close my eyes.  I _hate_ that, and I hate that he is out there, and _no one_ knows where, and that he could be doing this to someone else—he could be destroying another child, taking away _their_ innocence, _their_ childhood.  If there was karma, _he_ would be six-feet under, or behind bars, and _I_ could make love to my girlfriend without crying, and I could go to sleep at night _knowing_ that I wouldn't wake up in a cold sweat.  Because I don't deserve to be in this—this _prison_, and he doesn't fucking deserve to be _out there_."

"You're right Chandler, you're absolutely right.  But there is nothing any of us can do.  You can beat this—you can beat him, by trying to live your life, and working to find the happiness you deserve.  I know you can do it, because I've seen the way you're eyes light up when you look at Monica, and I've seen that unconscious grin that appears, however briefly, on your face when you talk about her, or Joey, or Phoebe, or Ross, or Rachel.  You have something that he will never have.  You have people that love you unconditionally, Chandler.  And _that_ is your revenge.  That, as your friend Phoebe would say, is your karma.  Fix the relationships you can, and move away from the ones that hurt you.  You need your father, whether you realize it or not.  Talk to him.  Tell him what you've told me.  Or don't.  Just open the dialogue."

"This all sounds…vaguely familiar," Chandler smiled slightly.

"Yes, well, _listen_ this time," Renee laughed.

*

One Week Later 

"Hey," Monica ran her hand down Chandler's cheek gently, "we're about to land."

"Kay," Chandler mumbled sleepily, and pulled his head off of Monica's shoulder.

"Wow, you slept through the entire flight," Monica smiled.

"Sorry I fell asleep on you," Chandler said, as he adjusted his seat.

"It's okay, I didn't mind.  I think I slept through a good portion of the flight myself.  The in-flight movie was horrible."

"What was it?"

"I don't know, but it had Rodney Dangerfield in it," Monica shook her head, as Chandler let out a short chuckle.

"Vegas, baybee!" Joey yelled, as he stuck his head between Monica and Chandler's seats suddenly.

"Thanks for that, Joe," Chandler smiled.

"Are Ross and Rachel still bickering back there?" Monica craned her neck around Joey's shoulder.

"No.  After thirty minutes of '_You stole my peanuts—No I didn't'_, the stewardess and about eight other people threw packets of peanuts at both of 'em," Joey giggled, "Ross squealed like a woman when one hit him in the face."

"Typical," Monica muttered, as the plane made its final descent.

*

Monica felt Chandler tighten his grip on her hand, as they approached Charles' house.  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze in return, but Chandler refused to look at her.  He was staring straight ahead, his eyes slightly glazed.  She realized then that he was unconsciously squeezing her hand, and that his mind was no longer in the present.

It was strange and surreal, being back at this house.  He hadn't been back since…well, since That Day, and the mere sight of it now was turning his stomach.

_This is good for me…I need this…it's part of the recovery…_

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, hoping that eventually, he'd believe it.

Ross pulled the rental car into the driveway, and both Rachel and Joey shot out of the minivan, and toward the house.  Charles was standing on the front porch, and smiled wryly as both of Chandler's friends shot him a quick hello and an apology, on their way to use his bathroom.

He watched, as Monica, Ross and Phoebe made their way out of the van, each of them stretching aching limbs that had yet to recover from the long flight.  His son made no move to get out of the vehicle, and Charles wondered briefly if he planned to spend the entire trip inside the rental.

Monica had called him a few days ago, informing him that Chandler wanted to speak with him, and that they were coming to Las Vegas.  The news was both exciting and terrifying; Charles had no way of knowing how Chandler felt now—all he knew was that Chandler had not tried to contact him since that day—and Charles was beginning to think he'd never hear form his only son ever again.

Charles diverted his eyes toward Monica, who had now noticed that Chandler had not gotten out of the car.  He could see her trying to coax him out, while simultaneously telling the others to take their bags to the house.  Charles cracked a smile—he knew that Chandler had survived this—all of this—because of Monica.  She cared for him, and took care of him, and for that, Charles was forever in her debt.

After a few moments of muted conversation, Charles watched as Monica pulled Chandler out of the car, and led him toward the house.  When they reached the front porch, Monica gave Chandler a reassuring look, before continuing on into the house.

They stood there, staring at each other, both trying desperately to avoid eye contact.  Chandler shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and rocked back onto his heels; Charles began picking at his fingernails nervously.

"Dad," Chandler said finally, his voice raspy and dry, "I—I don't hate you…I need for you to know that.  I don't hate you."

Charles smiled and took a small step toward his son.

"I—I was scared, and I was a little angry I guess…but then I thought about it, and I realized that there was nothing you could have done, really.  I—I want—I wanted to tell you that," he whispered the last few words softly.

"Son, I—" Charles stopped and looked up, trying to control the onslaught of tears, "I'm just so sorry that all of this ever—I just want to help you, if I can.  And I—I want to be your dad again.  I know I've done a shitty job so far, but I promise I'll try—I promise—"

"No, don't promise anything, please.  Just—you know—_be there_," Chandler said firmly.

"I will, I swear. I—I just want to be your father again—I want you to let me be your father again—" Charles repeated.

"You've always been my dad," Chandler smiled through tears.

Charles let out a sob of relief, and pulled Chandler into a tight embrace.

"I thought I'd lost you," Charles whispered after a short moment.

"I love you Dad," Chandler whispered in reply.

"I love you, son.  And I'm so sorry."

*

She found him, an hour later, standing several yards from the house, staring blankly at a small gully that ran along the other side of the road.  She approaching him slowly, and placed her hand lightly on the small of his back.

He didn't move.

"Hey," Monica whispered softly, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Chandler whispered flatly.

"What are you doing out here?" Monica turned to look out at the gully, as she wrapped her arms around herself tightly.  The chill that filled the desert air didn't seem to faze Chandler though; he simply stood there, rooted to his spot, his eyes never leaving the land that sprawled out ahead of him.

"I haven't been back here since that time my Mom brought me out here," Chandler said suddenly.

"After you—after you jumped?" Monica asked.

"A little afterward, yeah."

"Did it help?  Being out here?"

"No," Chandler shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Harold was here too," Monica stated flatly.

"He raped me down there," Chandler opened his eyes, and stared down into the ravine again.

Monica looked at her feet, and repressed an ever-present sob.

"It hurt like hell—my ribs were still broken from the jump—but all I kept thinking the whole time was that my Mom was gonna be mad, if we had to go back to the hospital.  She always hated hospitals," Chandler trailed off vaguely.

"Chandler—"

"It's so weird, coming back after all this time.  I just—it looks the same.  But—but it seemed like it was darker that night…"

"Maybe we should go inside, honey.  It's cold out here," Monica furrowed her brow in concern.

"It _was_ darker that night," Chandler continued, as though he hadn't heard Monica at all.

"Chandler, please," Monica placed her hand on Chandler's bicep, and he turned to look at her.

"I have to leave it here.  I have to, or I'll go mad.  He won't hurt me again," Chandler was looking at Monica, but it was evident he was talking to himself.

"You're right, he won't.  I won't let him.  None of us will."

Chandler took a deep breath, and Monica saw his eyes clear.

"I know," he smiled, and pulled Monica toward him, "I know you won't."

"Sweetie, you scared me," Monica placed a shaky hand on Chandler's cheek.

"I'm sorry.  Let's go," he said abruptly, and led her away from the ravine.

He never looked back.

*

Two Years Later (Epilogue)

He sat alone, on the front pew, looking at his hands.  Silence surrounded him, as did an angelic glow of the fading sun, shining brightly through the stained glass windows to his left.  In the distance, he could hear voices—jumbled conversations—from the other side of the church doors.

He pulled down his tie—deep blue, that brought out his striking cerulean eyes—and let out a soft breath.

"Chandler, the limo's here.  Are you ready?" Monica placed her hand on his shoulder as she spoke.

He nodded silently, but made no move to rise.  She circled the pew, and took a seat next to him, before grasping his hand in hers.

"I know how much she meant to you," Monica whispered, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"She was sick for a long time—I had no idea," Chandler croaked.

"No one did, honey.  She hid it well."

"I can't believe she's gone.  I feel like—I feel like a part of my heart has been ripped out."

"It has, in a way, I suppose.  Sweetie, I am so, so sorry."

"We should go," Chandler stood, and wrapped his arm around Monica, as she stood with him.  They walked down the aisle of the church, arms wrapped around each other, toward the front door of the chapel.  Chandler placed his hand on the handle, but hesitated, before pushing the door open.  He stared at the ornate wooden door, and swallowed hard.

"She loved me…she loved me when no one else did," he whispered sadly.

"I know," Monica whispered.

He pushed open the doors, and a flood of white light filled the room.  He stepped out into the sun, and took his wife's hand in his, before leading her down the stairs and into the waiting limo.


	28. Notes on the Story

Regression: Notes on the story 

Hi all!  Okay, there seemed to be a lot of confusion over the last chapter, which in a way was intentional, but I did want to clear a couple of things up for y'all…

**The Epilogue:**  Chandler and Monica are at Corrine's funeral.  I made a vague reference to her illness earlier in the story…it was too vague to detect, perhaps, but I put it in because I had always intended to kill her off.  (Wow, that sounds awful!)  Originally, I was gonna have some big dramatic hospital scene with her and Chandler, but in the end, I decided that it was too much.

**Harold:**  Yeah, I know, the bastard got away…I had an alternate ending where Chandler finds out that Harold died of a coronary alone in some nasty hotel room, but it kind of ended things too neatly for my taste.

**Chandler & Monica:**  I wanted to delve a little more into this relationship, but found that Chandler's relationship with his father was more interesting/more revealing.  If I ever get motivated to do so, I may do a sequel to this, and cover this relationship more.  (Don't count on it, lol.)  I left a small reference at the very end of the fic, just to give it some minor closure.  Chandler and Monica are married by the end of the story.  I was gonna have her pregnant too, but it was too clichéd, imho.

**Chandler & the rest of the gang:**  Bringing the gang out to Vegas was about as far as I was willing to go with this.  The scene in the plane was meant to show that the gang as a unit had been able to heal and move forward, and that some things (Ross & Rachel/Joey) never really change.

**Thank you all again for your extensive feedback on this!  I doubt I will ever do anything this huge again…but never say never, right?**

A


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